


Please, What Am I Doing With My Life?

by Ditto_Nymph



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bad Dreams, Bad at tagging, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, I'm learning okay??, Overwatch comes in slow im sorry, PTSD, Sex, Violence, mmkay?, super bad obviously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-05-25 05:21:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 89,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14969951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ditto_Nymph/pseuds/Ditto_Nymph
Summary: All Natasha wants in life is to protect the things that she can't. After all, you can't bring the dead back to life. Even if they are screaming in your ears all night. Natasha knows there's more that she can do and plenty of precious people left to protect. She just can't let the past get to her.





	1. [REDACTED]

**Author's Note:**

> So just a warning. We ain't gonna get to the Overwatching part for a few chapters. Pls bear with me. I really do mean BE a bear though. Like shit in the woods type of bear? Yeah.

Natasha took her work seriously. She had to, or else she would die. Like her brother before her… Like her first partner. They’d never taken their work seriously and they died either to hideous accidents or simple mistakes.

And she kept her work life and personal life separated by the thickest, strongest wall that she could manage.

Her current partner, her spotter, often teased her for it. But thankfully, he knew to be serious during work as well. His view of work, unfortunately, was a tad bit different then hers.

To Natasha, as soon as she was given a mission, a contract, as soon as she accepted it, she was in work mode. For Edgar, work didn’t start until they headed out. Even then, he sometimes would wait until they were at their designated location to become serious.

And sometimes…

“So, I was like, ‘Well, buddy, guess you picked the wrong day to wear white pants, huh?’.” Edgar mutters to her as he lays half on top of her, peering through a set of high-powered binoculars.

“Pretty sure I saw some brown stains forming,” He makes a short gagging sound and then tenses, pausing his story, “Spotted.” His voice is a shade louder than his story-telling as he rattles off details that lead their current target into Natasha’s line of sight.

Neither of them moves, but they take in a deep breath at the same time. A second later, a shot rings out and then the target is on the ground, their head a massacre of blood and gore. They can both hear the screams of terror that echo from the civilians, but Edgar can hear the security team barking orders and drones whirring to life.

By the time their location has been discovered, Natasha has already packed her rifle away and Edgar has called for their getaway vehicle. Their steps are synced with long strides through an empty park. There was a parade on the other side of the city and the park had no view of it, that and it was supposed to be a privately-owned park.

It was planted for Victor Brear, who’d legally changed his name from Eugene Smith when he was twenty-five. His parents were dead, he never held a long-lasting relationship and he had no children or siblings to speak of. But he loved having his own park as the “backyard” to his penthouse. He also loved the illicit activities he held in the small park, like selling illegal weapons to anyone who was willing to buy them.

Edgar and Natasha passed Victor on their way through the penthouse, he was lounging on his expensive sofa that acted almost like a wall separating the living area from the rest of the room. He pretended not to notice them while he sipped a dark wine from a crystal glass, eyes casually locked onto T.V that took up half of the wall, but Natasha caught him reaching for his phone just as they left. Probably calling his attorney.

Their transport arrived just as they had exited the luxury apartment building, honking twice as though impatient. Natasha and Edgar had rented an apartment room from a couple who were vacationing in France, acting like they were on their own little honeymoon as a cover for the contract they’d taken on.

When they’d returned the keys to the building owner, Edgar had held Natasha tightly by the waist, making sure that they appeared to be glued together while Natasha giggled and blushed as Edgar assured the owner that they’d had a wonderful time and left the apartment just as they’d found it.

They hadn’t, they left a few glasses out of place and some dishes in the dishwasher. Natasha was sure she’d left a spare blanket out on the couch, giving only a half-assed attempt at folding it. Appearances needed to be kept, after all.

Now, walking with an at-ease pace, Edgar has his arm thrown loosely around Natasha’s shoulder while she has an arm around his waist. Their cab driver shoots them an annoyed look as they throw their bags into the trunk, and then groans when Edgar holds the door open for Natasha, making sure to snag her hand to gently place a kiss on her knuckles.

“After you, my Lady,” His smirk is hidden by Natasha’s hand, and she giggles appropriately before sliding in, scooting over to the far side of the cab so that Edgar could slide in as well, “Take us away, Driver.” He waves a hand dismissively once he’s seated comfortably with an arm thrown around Natasha’s shoulders.

“Don’t be rude,” She admonishes him with a playful slap to the shoulder.

The cab driver rolls his eyes and groans again, pulling away from the sidewalk and slamming on the brakes when a car zooms by, their horn tearing through the air. The cab driver curses and flips the car off, but they’re long gone now.

Natasha frowns, but says nothing, instead watching for other cars as the cab driver finally frees them from the shoulder of the road. A pair of cop cars pull up to the building they’d left just as the cab takes a turn around the corner.

Edgar lets out a breath of relief and lets his body slump in his seat when they exit the city, “That was a little too close, don’t you think?” He nudges Natasha.

“Yeah, I thought those drones were taken care of?” Natasha tosses a look to the cab driver.

“Don’t look at me!” He shouts, “I’m just the driver, and you were two minutes late!” He points an accusatory finger at the rear-view mirror from where he can safely glare at them.

Edgar sighs and puts some space between himself and Natasha, removing his arm from her shoulder, “Yeah, I know. I didn’t account for the time it would take to kiss the owner’s ass when we returned the keys,” He grumbles, and then nudges at Natasha’s thigh to gain her attention, “We should go back there for our actual honeymoon sometime. It was pretty nice.”

“As soon as you propose to me,” Natasha replies without taking her eyes away from the window.

“Yeah, as if you’d ever say ‘yes’. Abdul, do you know how many times I’ve asked Nate to marry me?” Edgar cries to the cab driver, Abdul, who only tosses a dirty look that assures Edgar that he isn’t on his side.

He’s asked five times in the last year. Natasha is sure that it’s just a joke.

“I’m getting really tired of this ‘Abdul’ shit. My name is Carl!” Carl doesn’t even have an Indian accent. He has a north-eastern American accent.

His parents were born in Mumbai and his dark-brown skin is a reflection of theirs, though, which was enough fuel for Edgar to use to torment the poor man. Natasha isn’t really sure if Edgar truly despises Carl, or if he just enjoys how cute he looks when he pouts.

It was adorable.

“Alright, Carl, whatever you say.” Edgar replies with a voice so condescending that even Natasha whips her head around to give him an incredulous look. Edgar simply winks at her and motions for her to look at Carl, who is now pouting and grumbling quietly to himself.

Natasha fixes Edgar with a disappointed look. He at least has the decency to look shamed, quietly averting his eyes to his own window.

 

It takes ten minutes of awkward silence before Carl can’t take it anymore and starts telling Natasha and Edgar about how he’s been for the past month. Not that either of them cares. They’d only just met Carl a week ago, Natasha had run an extensive background check while Edgar poked into what Natasha dug up to see if he could find any more information.

The two-hour drive seemed much longer than it was as Carl explained, in depth, why he didn’t get along with his parents and why his girlfriend was probably cheating on him (his parents, probably). The endless, useless chatter was putting Natasha on edge. Technically the contract wasn’t over. What if he was trying to distract them to lead them into a trap?

Natasha chanced a glance at Edgar, unimpressed to find him dozing off, his head bobbing back up every so often as he mumbled a ‘yeah, mhmm’ to make it seem like he was listening to Carl’s tale. Of course he’d just let his guard down before they even reached the safe house. Natasha let out a slow breath and mentally marked the cars that were around them. There was a sleek red car a few cars back that had been with them since they’d left the city.

It was odd that a car like that wasn’t zooming through traffic. It looked new, probably purchased within the last year. Nothing about the license plate stood out, and there were no unique markings on the car. The windows were tinted, but they were within the legal limits of the state. Before Natasha could get a good look at the driver, if there even was one, another moved in front of it. A white, bulky car that toted itself as The Traveler and had a few decals on the back window. It had seemed like it was going to pass them, but… It was keeping speed with them; its front wheel wasn’t passing their back wheel.

Just as Natasha imagined the white car’s front-end ramming into their back-end, Carl spoke up.

“Oh, this is our exit!” He exclaimed, jerking the wheel and cutting through traffic to slip into an exit that would take them to a different highway.

Edgar made a panicked sound as he latched onto the side of the door, one hand grabbing desperately for Natasha as the car jerks around. Natasha takes pity on Edgar and moves her arm to allow him to latch onto it for comfort.

“What the hell was that?” Edgar complains loudly, his grip on Natasha’s arm almost painfully tight. Natasha doubts that the door’s inner handle fairs any better.

“Oh, I just almost missed the exit, it’s fine,” Carl waves off Edgar’s concern with a carefree smile to the rearview mirror, “Anyway, as I was saying, my Aunt is very traditional, just like my parents…” As Carl drones on about a recent clash between his aunt and mother over how Carl was raised, Edgar gives Natasha a bewildered look.

Natasha looks out of the back window, noting the lack of familiar cars that had taken the exit with them. The person behind them, what looked like an older woman with some too-energetic kids in the back, did not look happy about being cut off. Natasha wonders how the woman in the car would have responded to suddenly being cut off if it hadn’t been for the children.

“I think we’re clear,” She tells Carl instead of answering Edgar’s unasked question.

“And Aunt- What?” Carl stumbles mid-sentence, checking the rearview mirror, before laughing, “Oh, that, yeah! No, I’m a master at this, we’re fine. So anyway, Aunt…”

Natasha tunes Carl out and gives Edgar a smug look, “I told you, you need to stay alert until we’re done.” Edgar finally let’s her arm go with a huff.

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. I just wish we didn’t have to sit in a car for so long. Even a Heli-carrier is better than this!” Edgar grumbles, looking longingly at the sky.

Natasha looks too, because it’s a nice, sunny day out with a few clouds spread out sparsely. There’s some contrails being led by tiny dots in the sky, but otherwise it’s a clear-blue blanket separating them from the deep-cold of space.

 

Carl is, thankfully, not staying at the safe-house. He didn’t even go into the same city that it was located but dropped them off at a small town that had a bus station connected to the city.

The safe-house itself is a 2- Star hotel by the name of _Quality Inn_. And the rooms can attest to it’s ‘quality’. There was just enough room for Natasha and Edgar to move about the room with only one queen-sized bed and a small T.V. settled on a surprisingly sturdy credenza that’s painted to look like cherry wood. It has a window, it’s best feature, that has an A.C. unit just below it. The curtains, blessed they be, are thick enough to block out the sunlight. Which is just what Natasha needs after a somewhat decent shower.

The dark of the room is a small comfort to the growing headache that started building as soon as they stepped into the hotel lobby. It’s probably the thick smell of smoke despite requesting a non-smoking room. It could also be that mix of drying-paint and too-much-cologne that seems to permeate the entire hotel. Even with a window open, which did help a little.

Natasha sighs happily when she digs out her prize from the bottom of her bag, just as Edgar exits the bathroom from his own shower, still towel-drying his short, blonde hair. He quickly spots the small, pastel coloured ball in her hands and rushes up to her, pressing half of his shoulder against her back to peer over her shoulder.

“Oh, oh! Can I join you? The one we used in Bangkok was _amazing_!” He groans and practically melts against her.

Bangkok was a year ago, and while the bath-bomb that Edgar had forced her to share was amazing, Natasha doesn’t want to think about _Bangkok_. That contract had kept them in their sniper’s nest for over a week, during a heat wave that carried a record-high temperature of 104.5°F. And then all hell had broken lose when a swarm of omnics had burst into the late-night festivities of Songkran.

They’d crawled out of the damned canals, dragging down boats and people, killing indiscriminately and spreading out into the city. Like a damned infestation. And while Edgar and Natasha’s target had been taken out in the chaos, there was no way to leave the area without doing _something_ about the omnic attack. Edgar had found them the best path to a nearby radio-station, hoping that the signal would be strong enough to reach the majority of the omnics while the local police and military took care of the rest.

While Edgar played look-out, Natasha broke into the radio-station’s system. All she had to do was figure out which frequency wavelength they were operating on and release a nasty virus she’d been tinkering with. It had taken nearly an hour to find that one tiny frequency nestled in a thousand others, but she’d found it.

The virus took much less time to systematically take down the first wave of omnics that had been tearing through the city. Apparently, it had also delayed the second wave long enough for a unit from Overwatch to finish the job and prevent Bangkok from becoming another battle-zone lost to war.

Edgar told her this after they’d ran from the city, settling in a ghost town that had been abandoned years prior. They didn’t leave the town for a month, hiding there while the horrors of what they’d witnessed haunted them. Edgar faired better than Natasha did, he’d seen omnics destroy a city before, before they met, before he became her spotter. It was Natasha’s first time seeing their destruction with her own eyes.

She still had nightmares about children being ripped in half by demons made of metal.

They’d spent the majority of the month in that little town counselling each other through the madness, gearing one another up for the outside world again. Edgar had managed to convince the contractor to give them double pay for omnic hazards and made a point to look for contracts that avoided possible areas of conflict with the omnics. A difficult job, but they’d managed. Until it became damn-near impossible to avoid them, and by then Natasha had a slew of viruses and programs at her disposal to use against the omnics. Each one was just different enough from the last that it would give any omnic pause, which was enough time for Natasha and Edgar to either escape or take them out. But they were getting faster at disabling the program or breaking a virus, and Natasha wouldn’t be able to stay ahead of them for long.

Natasha sighs heavily and leans back against Edgar, “No, this one is mine and I have a headache.” She pauses to think, “What time are we due tomorrow?”

“It’s a brunch meeting,” Edgar tells her, “It’s supposed to be at this really nice café that just opened a month ago.” He leans forward, making her lean forward with him, to grab his phone off the bed. A simple flick of his finger unlocks it and he shows her the email he received from a non-existent user.

“Perfect, I’m so tired of bland crackers that are supposedly rich in nutrients.” Natasha grumbles. She isn’t really a fan of sweets, but she’ll always eat whatever has flavor after a contract that’s had her in a sniper’s nest for more than a few hours.

Edgar nods in agreement against her shoulder, mouths at the skin that’s not covered by her shirt, and then moves to let her go to the bathroom with her precious bath-bomb that he’s totally not going to pout over while he waits for her.

The bathroom’s lighting could be considered “mood-lighting” at best, but that’s fine. The light isn’t bright enough to agitate her headache, and the bathtub doesn’t take long to fill. The bomb fizzes pleasantly in the water and releases the warm scent of vanilla.

While the bath-bomb bobs about the tub, Natasha ties her hair up to keep it out of the water and then lowers herself into the tub. The water isn’t hot enough to have steam rising, as she prefers, but it is warm enough to help relax her. She only gets about five minutes to herself before Edgar -quietly- barges into the bathroom, plops onto the toilet and waits for her to pay attention to him.

Natasha makes him sit there for another five minutes before she pops an eye open to glare at him, “What?”

“An unknown number called me.” Edgar says.

“And…?” Natasha raises an eyebrow when Edgar doesn’t further explain.

“They know what we’ve done and have contacted our agency.” There’s a pregnant pause as Natasha stares at him incredulously, “The meeting location has changed, we’re going to an older restaurant. The suit-and-tie only kind of restaurant.” Natasha growls and drops her head against the wall of the tub.

“So we have to find something to wear… What time is it?” They hadn’t packed anything nice enough to wear to a place like that. It wasn’t something Natasha had thought to plan for, “And what’s the name of the restaurant?”

Edgar looks at his phone, “It’s 7:34p.m. and the name is Restaurant 104.”

Natasha rolls her eyes and lifts herself from the comfort of the slowly cooling water, “So modern, so chic.” She mutters.

Edgar watches her with a frown as she pulls the cork to the tub and then roughly turns on the dial of the shower to rinse off the foam of the bath-bomb, “How’s your head?” He asks quietly.

Natasha shuts off the water to the shower and grabs the towel hanging on the rack beside the tub to dry off before she answers, “Well it was fine for about a minute there. We brought painkillers this time, right?” Edgar gives a nod to confirm, “Good. I’ll just take one of those.”

 

Twenty minutes later, Natasha and Edgar are looking for dresses and matching accessories in a store that’s far overpriced, but has good quality material. Edgar would be looking for a suit for himself, but he wants to make sure that they match. That and he has better taste than Natasha.

“This blue one will look nice on you,” Edgar comments as he pulls out a floor-length dress that only has one shoulder.

It’s a dark blue gown that has a silver-beaded trim on the shoulder strap that follows the curve of the dress halfway down in a thick line that dissipates once its passed the hipline. It would look very good on her, Natasha agrees and then plucks a pair of simple earrings with sapphire gems hanging half an inch from the lobe. One brief trip to the changing room has both Edgar and Natasha satisfied with the fit of the dress and they allow an attendant to take the dress and earrings to the register to wait for them while they picked out the right tie and suit for Edgar.

Edgar is much pickier with his own suit and takes nearly an hour trying to decide if he should go with an aqua-blue or a navy-blue tie. And then, should he get the one with stripes or subtle circles in the design of the tie? Natasha waits patiently, because she’s been down this road before and knew that Edgar would only get antsier and snappy if she tried to rush him or give him half-assed replies on what looked best and what didn’t.

“Get the one with circles, maybe we can hypnotize them if the worst comes to worst.” Natasha suggests and then adds, “The stripped one has too sharp of a contrast between the stripes. It’s eye-catching, yes, but it’s too distracting.” When Edgar cuts a glare her way in the mirror.

He huffs, but in the end, he agrees with her. By the time they’re done shopping the store is closing and the staff are giving them looks, as though they were afraid they’d suddenly change their minds and be back to shopping for another half-hour. Edgar almost changes his mind, but Natasha groans loudly and complains about her headache, even though the painkillers had done their job an hour into their sudden shopping spree.

“I knew I should have gone back for the stripped tie…” Edgar mutters after they are back at their hotel room, hanging up their outfits on the curtain rod for the bathtub.

“I think I might actually never have sex with you again if you’d gone back for the stripped tie.” Natasha mutters back as she sets her earrings beside her make-up kit.

The make-up kit was just two small sets of various eyeshadows, a stick of liquid eyeliner, mascara, and a handful of various lipsticks in dark shades.

“Do you think I should go with the black lipstick tomorrow? Or is that too much?” Natasha tilts her head as she regards her choices.

Edgar peaks at her small supply over her shoulder and frowns, unimpressed with her selection, “No, that’s too edgy. Besides, this is supposed to be a business meeting. We want to impress them. Probably avoid prosecution…” He hums thoughtfully and presses his lips against her shoulder, “Go with the royal purple, and match it with a smokey eye, black on the lid and silver on the outer edges… Just line the top lid with the liner, give it a small wing. The silver will make your eyes stand out a bit more and will match with the accents of your outfit.” Natasha waits patiently for Edgar’s final hum of approval before she packs away the make-up she won’t be using.

“Dark purple nails to match the lips, I’m guessing?” She raises her hands to show off the purple nail-polish that has held up surprisingly well over the length of the contract. She’s glad she chose purple instead of red.

“Perfect.” Edgar approves with a kiss to Natasha’s neck.

Natasha sighs in relief, glad to have the planning out of the way and tilts her head to allow Edgar better access to her neck. Edgar hums in approval, his arms encircling her waist, as he bites down on that one spot on Natasha’s neck that makes her knees go weak.

Luckily, Natasha’s arms are strong enough to hold her up as she leans back against Edgar and grinds her ass against is groin. She can feel the beginning of an erection forming and smiles at him in delight in the mirror. Edgar smirks back at her as his hands start roaming along her hips, one hand coming up under her shirt, and then creeping under her bra to cup a breast while the other dips pops open the button on her jeans. He’s slow to pull the zipper down as he bends her over the sleek, black counter. He sucks at the spot on her neck that he knows she loves and then groans when one of her hands reaches back to tangle her fingers in his hair. There isn’t much to grip, but that’s never stopped Natasha from being able to pull just right.

Edgar bites down again as he rocks against Natasha, grinding his now hard cock against her supple cheeks.

“Quit teasing,” Natasha hisses at him and gives his hair another tug.  
She gasps when Edgar follows her demand, plunging his hand underneath her underwear to rub her clitoris roughly.

“So wet for me already?” He breathes in her ear and grinds against her while his thumb replaces his fingers on her clit, allowing his fingers to slip between her labia and into her soaking vagina.

Natasha moans eagerly, her eyes close as she loses herself to the pleasure, grinding against Edgar’s hand. He waits until she’s panting, her moans raising in pitch. He waits until she tells him how close she is, begging him not to stop, and then he takes his hand away. Natasha snarls at him and twists in his hold, pushing him up against the wall of the bathroom as her lips crash into his. Their teeth clack together and Edgar grunts from the pain of it, biting at Natasha’s lip to reprimand her. Natasha bites back as her hands rush down to his jeans, blindly trying to undo the button and zipper.

Edgar pushes her back against the sink, grabbing her hands and pulling them away from his jeans. He laughs when she groans in frustration, smirking as he holds her hands up in the air.

“You need to learn how to be patient,” He teases her, “No moving now.” His voice is stern as he lowers her hands and wraps them around the edge of the counter, giving them a loving pat, “Keep those there.”

Natasha huffs at him, but does as she’s told. Edgar rewards her with a sweet kiss, pressing the length of his body against hers and grinding his hips against hers. He doesn’t really enjoy the feeling of the unforgiving fabric of jeans straining against his cock, but he loves driving Natasha wild. It’s worth suffering for. Edgar doesn’t torture Natasha for too long, though. As soon as she’s nipping at his lips, gearing up to start biting them again to get him moving along, Edgard begins moving down her body. He doesn’t bother with taking off her shirt, instead mouthing playfully at her breasts and nudging her shirt up to kiss her hip while he tugs down her jeans along with her underwear.

Because it would be too awkward to keep her jeans around her ankles, Edgar is kind enough to pull them off while Natasha hops onto the counter. She gives him a coy look while he slowly spreads her legs. And when he simply holds her legs open, she raises a brow expectantly.

“Not in the mood for dessert?” She tilts her head with a smile.

“I’m more thinking along the lines of a main course.” Edgar shoots back with a wink.

Still, he trails a steady line of kisses and nips from an ankle to her thigh, taking his time along the way. Natasha bites her lip, trying to keep her breathing even. She doesn’t fool Edgar with her calm composure, he can see her anticipation in the clenched fingers on the countertop and in her pupils, blown out in her eyes. So he skirts around her labia, just barely brushing his lips against her clitoris. Natasha sucks in a breath at the contact and mutters a curse when Edgar continues his trail up her stomach, in between her breasts, following the line of her throat until their lips met again. The kiss was slow this time, unhurried as the two took their time reacquainting themselves with one another. Edgar licked at Natasha’s lips, urging them apart as he wrapped a hand in her hair, blunt nails scratching pleasantly at her scalp. The hand on Natasha’s hip drifted to a drawer just to the left of them and rummaged around for a moment before Edgar found his prize, pulling away from Natasha and chuckling when she whines.

“Why are you torturing me?” She demands, and then blinks when Edgar presents her with the small, square package that contained his prize. A condom.

“It’s your turn to do the sexy thing.” He taps her nose with it, his smile widening when she glares at him, “Oh, you can move your arms now.” He adds.

Natasha snatches the condom out of his hand and tears the wrapping open from the corner with her mouth. Edgar practically purrs at that and rubs her hips encouragingly, until Natasha roughly shoves him back. Unlike Edgar, Natasha wastes no time in dropping to her knees in front of him, unbuttoning his jeans, unzipping them, and then tugging them down. She takes a moment to appreciate his lack of underwear, and then another moment to appreciate his engorged member that twitches at her attention. She licks her lips at the sight of it, before wrapping said lips around the head of his cock and sucking on it.

That earns her a gasp and a hand in her hair, and despite the gentle tugging urging her away Natasha inches her head forward, enjoying Edgar’s gasps of pleasure and whispered pleas, until her nose bumps against his stomach. She swallows around his cock before moving her head back and forth, drawing as many moans as she can from him and raising her eyes to meet Edgar’s. Natasha winks at up at him at she sucks hard on his cock one more time before popping it out of her mouth. Edgar grunts at her as she rises to her feet and pulls his hips flush against hers, his cock sliding easily against her vagina.

“Fuck me like I owe you money.” She whispers into his ear and then bites it for good measure.

Edgar moans and thrusts his hips a few times, his fingers digging into Natasha’s hips to keep her still. With a bit of maneuvering, he lines his cock up and eases his way into Natasha’s dripping cunt, drawing a whine and a particularly nasty bite on the shoulder from Natasha. After a moment of thought, Edgar picks Natasha up, hands firmly grasping her ass, and swings them around presses Natasha against the wall of the bathroom. The thought of being fucked into a wall makes Natasha gasp, but instead of jackhammering his cock into her as she hoped for, Edgar continues his slow and easy thrusting, keeping a tight hold on Natasha so that she can’t thrust her hips forward to take his cock in faster.

Natasha growls around his shoulder and bites harder, breaking the skin, as she struggles to pull him in with her legs. Edgar makes a pained sound that turns into a chuckle, adjusting his stance to better fight against her stronger legs.

“Feeling feisty today, are we?” He asks her.

“I’m more feeling like you need to quit acting like a limp noodle and fuck me like you mean it!” Natasha snaps back.

She removes her hands from around his shoulders and plants them firmly against the wall behind her, pushing as hard as she can with the little leverage she’s allowed. It’s enough to make Edgar lose his balance, though, and he nearly trips on their clothing as be backs into the counter. One hand releases Natasha to latch onto the edge of the counter to help keep himself from falling over and it’s only when Natasha’s now free foot hooks around his ankle does he realize his mistake. Natasha pushes his shoulder as she pulls on his ankle, and with only one hand to hold himself up, Edgar is no match for the sudden force and his foot catches on Natasha’s pants and then they’re suddenly falling.

At the very least, when they fall to the floor, there’s enough room that Edgar doesn’t slam his head into the toilet. And Natasha was kind enough to cup his head with one hand so that her hand took the brunt of the damage that the back of his head would have. But she removes that hand before Edgar even has a chance to reorient himself, pushing most of her weight into his shoulder as she raises herself until the head of his cock is just nestled in her hot cunt before she slams herself down. Natasha repeats the motion, riding Edgar as hard as she can, twisting her hips so that the angle is enough to leave her breathless as his cock hits her g-spot with every thrust.

“Fuck,” Edgar grunts, unable to keep from raising his hips to meet hers, “God, you’re amazing. So tight.” He moans, “Is this just for me?” He asks.

Natasha chuckles at that, “Wouldn’t you like that, Russian-boy?” She teases, and then moves her free hand just below his throat when she feels him move to sit up, “Oh no, I like you just where you are.”

Edgar groans and throws his head back, “Fuck, baby, I’m close. Slow down a little.” He begs.

Natasha just laughs at that and pulls herself upright so that she can ride him faster, fully intent on making him cum before her, “Come on then, give it to me!” She goads.

Even though she’s close to finishing herself she doesn’t slow until Edgar’s grip on her hips tighten and pull her down with such a sudden force that she topples on top of him as he cums with a loud cry that echoes off of the bathroom walls. Natasha bites her lip and groans against Edgar’s chest when his cock twitches inside of her, reminding her of just how close she is to finishing. She quickly squirms a hand between them, expertly rubbing her clitoris as she chased her own orgasm. Her greedy little cunt squeezes Edgar’s still hard cock and he has to bite down on her shoulder as Natasha cums, both of them moaning, though Edgar’s is more of a whine.

“Fuck, baby, why do you do this to me?” He hisses from the overstimulation and carefully pushes Natasha off of him, his cock slipping out of her as he does so.

“Shut up, you love it.” Natasha tells him between inhales as she catches her breath.

Edgar turns his head to glare at her and she smirks at him, there isn’t much room on the floor of the bathroom for them to lay side by side so Natasha is pressed against his, one leg thrown over him as she lays her head on his shoulder.

“And this doesn’t count as after-sex cuddles. I want real cuddles!” Edgar cries. They eventually move themselves to the bedroom, after they’ve both cleaned up.

Edgar is a cuddler, Natasha is not. Despite her lack of interest in cuddling, she makes an exception for Edgar. It’s the least she can do since he watches her back, but after a round of sex it’s a little gross with the sweat sticking to the both of them. Still, she’s too tired to move from his embrace and succumbs to the uncomfortable heat. She does stick her foot out from underneath the covers to keep somewhat cool and takes comfort in the fact that Edgar will soon roll away. Natasha falls asleep before he does.

 

 

When Natasha gets up that morning, it’s with a fuzzy head, like she didn’t get quite enough sleep that night. With a tired yawn, she shrugs on a black skin-tight, long-sleeved shirt and a pair of black leggings. It’s too hot for much else, she can tell because their shitty hotel room doesn’t have a functioning air conditioner and she’s already sweating. She’s probably been sweating all night. Edgar doesn’t fair much better than her, he hates the heat even more than she does, and sticks with a thin t-shirt, black, and a pair of shorts that hug his butt just right.

Natasha stares at it while he bends over to check their bag, making sure they have everything. They’re not coming back to the hotel after this. Edgar can tell she’s staring, so he wiggles his butt for her, making them both laugh.

The sniper’s nest, set up the other day, has not been found and has been left untouched. It’s a good sign, meaning that they don’t have to run to the other nest or, worst case scenario, postpone the contract. Natasha makes herself comfortable under a thick bush, ignoring a spider that darts away from her when she disturbs its tiny web. Edgar joins her only a moment later, settling himself half on top of her, like he usually does.

For this contract, Edgar has brought along a cloaking device because, although the omnic crisis ended years ago, there are still rogue omnics out there. That and their target uses an omnic security guard.

Their target does not enter the area until much later than either of them had predicted. A tall, black-haired man, their target, stumbles into Natasha’s line of sight. She’s a little surprised, usually Edgar is calling out the target to her. She keeps her eyes on him anyway, waiting until she has a clean shot.

Natasha has several clean shots, but she can’t seem to pull the trigger. Something feels off about the contract, about the way the target is stumbling around, the way their bodyguard’s movements are stiff and jerky. Not at all like the smooth motion she’s used to seeing from omnics. Just as she’s about to ask Edgar why he’s been so quiet, he’s shouting something about the canals. She can’t quite understand him over her thundering heartbeat, and she doesn’t understand why her heart is pounding so furiously until she turns her attention to the spider-like robots crawling out of the water.

They’re pulling people into the canal left and right as they swarm into the streets. The screams, as far away from them as Natasha and Edgar are, sound so clear. As though they’re screaming in her ears. The canal waters rage like an angry sea, the waters flowing red, thickened with the blood of the innocent. Her eyes follow a trail of omnics that crowd around their target and she’s stuck watching, horrified when their metal hands dive into the man’s chest, his throat, their hands grabbing onto flesh and tearing it off of bone.

Natasha fires shot after shot, sometimes ending an omnic’s life, other times giving a merciful death to an unfortunate human. It’s only when the sound of turret fire screeches through the air that Edgar pulls her to her feet and pushes her into a sprint. She has no idea where they’re going, pulling out a light-gun, a small pistol with bullets made of a concentrated energy that burned through flesh and light armor easily. It takes a few more shots for metal, but it can get the job done. It takes longer than her sniper to take out the omnics in their way, but it makes running and shooting easier.

Before she realizes where Edgar has taken her, they’re almost at the top floor of a radio-station. All the doors are labeled in Taiwanese, the characters warping whenever she looked too closely at them. Omnics burst from every door they pass. Edgar holds them back while Natasha rushes the main computer. In her pocket is a thumb-drive, it has the virus she made, all she needs to do is plug it in. Find the right frequency and upload the virus to it. That’s all she needs to do.

But the buttons dip and melt into the computer and an omnic springs forth from the screen, it’s metal claws tighten around her throat as glass explodes around them and it draws a third hand back, knives on its finger tips glinting in the light, before it plunges its hand into her _skull and it **pulls-**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations! You made it to the end! Oh my god, did you enjoy it? Please let me know! This will be updated at least once a week. I'm a slow writer, but I do have a several chapters written out as well as an outline settled so I know where I'm going and how I'm gonna get there. It's just the smaller details that I've gotta work through.
> 
> Plus all those terribly written sex scenes ;) 
> 
> Buckle up, fellas it's gonna be a long ride.


	2. [CLASSIFIED]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nightmare and a deal. But the deal isn't a nightmare... is it?

Natasha jerks awake, and then panics when an omnic’s arms tighten around her waist and hold her against them, making her kick her legs and thrash in the omnic’s hold as much as she can, desperately trying to break free.

“It’s me! It’s Edgar! It’s okay, I’ve got you! It’s me, it’s me!” Edgar’s voice breaks through her panic.

Natasha makes a choked sound in the back of her throat that breaks into a sob when she stops struggling. Edgar is quick to let her go, backing away so that he isn’t crowding into her space. Natasha is grateful for that and lifts her self up to sit on the edge of the bed while she calms her panting breath. She tries not to flinch when she feels Edgar’s hand rubbing her back with slow, soothing motions. In her mind, all she can see is the omnic, tearing her face off.

Her hand flies up, practically slapping her face as she searches for the gaping wounds that should be pouring blood. All she finds is an old scar on her cheek, it’s small and mostly goes unnoticed in the right lighting. No omnic gave her that, but a rock did when she tripped and fell. Natasha likes to lie and say she got it in a sniper fight, it sounds much more impressive.

When Natasha’s shaking hands find nothing out of the ordinary, nothing from her nightmare, she sighs in relief and lets her body relax. Her shoulders slump and then Edgar is pressing against her back, placing light kisses along her shoulders.

“Bangkok?” He asks after Natasha’s breathing has calmed and her shoulders have stopped shaking. 

Natasha nods wordlessly, still touching her cheeks and nose because when she takes her hand away, that omnic is plunging its hand into her face again. It’s a ridiculous notion, Edgar has never let anyone, let alone an omnic, get so close to her. There weren’t even any omnic in the radio station when they busted in. By the time they got there, it had been evacuated. They didn’t even go to the top floor! 

“Fucking Bangkok.” Natasha stutters out a chuckle and shakes her head. “I never want to go back there.”

“Damn,” Edgar sighs in disappointment, “and here I was planning that to be our honeymoon get away.” He wraps his arms around her waist again and gives her a gentle squeeze.

“I will kill you,” Natasha growls half-heartedly, and then laughs with Edgar. 

The tension in the air is finally gone and they both lay back down on the bed. Neither of them closes their eyes, staring at the ceiling instead. Edgar raises his hand and then counts down from five. The alarm goes off a minute after he’s finished his count down.

 

When they go out for breakfast two hours later, Edgar doesn’t comment on Natasha’s order. Just a mixed fruit smoothie. As they sit at a small table Edgar compares Natasha’s ‘meal’ to his two pancakes, a side of eggs, hash browns and bacon. Neither of them had dinner last night. Instead, he just slides over his hash browns because they’re plain enough that they shouldn’t upset her stomach.

Natasha eats them when he goes to the bathroom. And then eats one of his pancakes, too. To be fair, she does let him have a few sips of her smoothie, since all he got was a cup of coffee. 

On the way back to the hotel, they grab a couple pre-made meals that they can microwave for a quick lunch. They have a few hours to kill, but Natasha is too antsy to have another round of sex, much to Edgar’s disappointment. Instead they sit and watch cartoons on a popular kid’s channel while Natasha fusses with her holster. The dress is very nice, but it sits a little too tight on her hips and she has no intention of putting her pistol in between her legs. She’ll have to settle with a few creatively hidden throwing knives and a dagger. Just in case. 

Edgar does not have this problem, fortunately, so he can catch up on shows he’s never seen before, but pretends to be very familiar with.

“Oh my god,” Edgar draws out the sentence as punctuates it with a soft gasp as Natasha is working out the logistics of hiding sharp objects while wearing a dress. He repeats himself a little louder when Natasha doesn’t give him her immediate attention.

He watches her freeze, her shoulders slump in defeat and has to hold back a chuckle when she heaves a sigh and glares at him over her shoulder, “What?”

“They killed off Sir Meowskers! He was my favorite…” Edgar trails off into a pout that quickly turns into a smile he can’t hide.

Natasha huffs and rolls her eyes, “You’ve never even seen the damned show before!” She cries, looking for something to throw at him. 

Edgar just gives her a smug smile, and then quickly jerks out of the way of his own shoe, “Hey, that almost hit my head!” Edgar cries.

Natasha sticks her tongue out at him childishly, before turning her attention back to her outfit. 

They spend the last hour putting themselves together and then tidying each other’s outfits. Natasha fixes Edgar’s tie so it sits just so and Edgar fusses with Natasha’s hair until it looks just right. The cab ride is spent mostly silent, aside from Edgar telling Natasha about the latest meme that his uncle shared with him. Edgar’s uncle is exactly three years behind the rest of the world when it comes to popular things on the internet, providing an endless source of exasperation and annoyance for Edgar. Natasha doesn’t mind it; Edgar’s uncle has similar tastes in humor to Natasha’s. Plus, the nostalgia is nice.

Once they arrive at the restaurant, fifteen minutes early, Edgar has a tight hold on Natasha’s waist. He keeps a hand by his gun, just in case, and puts out the kind of confidence that someone who thinks the world owes them something has. It’s his best front, and one he uses when he’s nervous.

Not that Natasha isn’t nervous either. She has a tight hold on his belt, but it’s hidden by his suit jacket. Her free arm is stiff by her side, a weak attempt to keep her from fiddling with her hair. 

They should be better than this, _she_ should be better than this. 

Nerves usually didn’t get the best of Natasha, especially when she has to go undercover. But this wasn’t undercover, not really. They were going to meet a mysterious contractor. But they’ve done that before.

But this one knew exactly what they did and they _followed_ them. 

Her grip tightens on Edgar’s belt, the leather crinkles and her hand aches. Edgar rubs her hip with his thumb while he spoke with the maître d, but there wasn’t much else he could to for her. 

As the maître d leads them to their table, a handful of patrons turn their gaze towards them. Natasha recognizes none of them, but tries to memorize their faces. There were mostly gorgeous couples who glanced their way for only a second. They were much too interested in themselves. Some gazed a little longer, and one woman slaps her date on the shoulder. A glint of reflects light on the woman’s hand and catches Natasha’s eye. Oh dear, they were married.

The maître d ignores the other guests as he leads them to a room separated from the rest of the restaurant by a set of stairs that led to the second floor. He’s a tall man, with lightly tanned skin, a pencil-thin mustache, and short hair gelled back. Edgar’s hand begins to make its way up towards the man’s hair, so Natasha lets go of his belt to snatch his hand out of the air before it can make contact. It’s an awkward move and she has to press into Edgar to reach around him, but she manages. Edgar squeezes her hand and smiles, glancing out of the corner of his eye to let her know he was teasing her. Natasha squeezes his hand back, but pouts. 

The maître d turns to face them just as Natasha and Edgar fix neutral expressions on their faces. The maître d cannot be fooled, however, and sighs as he raises an eyebrow in disgust. Edgar clears his throat and mumbles an apology.

“Right,” The maître d sneers, “In here, if you please,” He gestures to an open doorway to reveal a large room. 

In the center is a cooking station and two chefs preparing meals for the gusts that sit at the long table that wraps around the station in a circle. At the long table, there are only three guests and both Natasha and Edgar recognize each of them.

The first one they recognize is Commander Jack Morrison, and then Captain Ana Amari, both from Overwatch. Both are _leaders_ of Overwatch. The third is Natasha and Edgar’s handler, Jessica Knots, who looks just as nervous as they feel.

Jack and Ana were both dressed to impress, as Natasha and Edgar were, but somehow they were more impressive. Perhaps that simply was the way, they were more experienced, they probably had deeper pockets, and they probably had personal fashion designer at their beck and call.

Jack was in what appeared to be a standard suit, but it was tailored perfectly to fit him. As he stood to greet them it moved so smoothly to accommodate him. It was almost mesmerizing. 

Natasha and Edgar had to let go of one another so that they could shake Jack’s hand while he greeted them and introduced himself.

“I hear you served, too?” Jack asked as he shook Natasha’s hand. His grip was startlingly gentle.

“Yes, sir. Four years.” Natasha confirmed as her mind zipped through her military career and tried not to show her panic at Jack knowing her history.

“During the Omnic Crisis?” He tilted his head in an adorable way, like a curious puppy, which somehow only made his line of questioning even worse.

“Only for a year, before it was over. I would have served two, but my parents would have never allowed it.” She gave him a nervous smile and then straightened her posture to solute him. There was no way in hell that he _didn’t_ outrank her. 

Jack just chuckled and shook his head, “There’s no need for that.” 

“Force of habit,” Natasha cleared her throat and forced herself to relax her posture. Edgar put a hand on her back and she leaned into it.

“I understand. This is Captain Ana Amari, I’m sure you’re familiar with her?” Jack turned as Ana stood from her seat to give her room.

Ana was still intimidating in her aqua-blue dress that was cut just above the knees. It sparkled lightly and while it showed off her curves, she still looked sharp and dangerous. Even the gray hairs sprinkled throughout her black hair couldn’t change how powerful the woman was.

“It’s a pleasure to meet the both of you. Jack and I have been looking forward to this meeting.” Ana’s smile was vicious. How long had they waited? 

“Well, I can certainly say that it is an honor to meet the both of you.” Edgar replied smoothly.

Jessica clears her throat, “Natasha. Edgar.” She nods to the both of them and gestures for them to take their seats.

“Back to business,” Jack sighs as he and Ana sit back down.

The table is curved just enough so that they can see one another without having to lean forwards or backwards. There are two seats between Ana and Jessica, so Edgar takes the seat next to Ana and lets Natasha sit next to Jessica. There’s no one else in the room, aside from the two chefs.

But where is the security detail? Who in their right mind would let two of the most important members of Overwatch run around on their own? No one… The other guests, the maître d… The chefs. The chefs’ uniforms are large enough to hide a thin layer of armor and a few weapons. The maître d can turn away whoever he wants and could hide any number of weapons all around the restaurant. The guests could just be extra cover… None of them stood out in her mind, but that would be the point, wouldn’t it? Easily forgettable. What if this was a damned trap?!

Her train of thought is dismantled when Jessica hands her a menu. It’s pretty simple for such a nice place. Just one laminated sheet that has various dishes and drinks on either side.

“I’ll pay for the both of you,” Jessica tells her as Natasha looks over the menu. 

“What?” Natasha can’t help but be confused, usually Jessica made them pay if they ever ate out together.

“Your meals?” Jessica taps the menu, “I’ll pay for them.” Odd, Natasha thinks, but she nods her head as though she understands.

“Wow, Jessica!” Edgar cries and looks at her with excitement, “What did we do to get such a treat?” Edgar takes another look at the menu, as though he was going to change his order. 

Jack and Ana exchange a look, Ana’s is amused while Jack looks a little disgruntled. Jessica looks uncomfortable and clears her throat, gesturing for Edgar and Natasha to  
choose something from the menu.

“My apologies, but we ordered before you arrived. Jack and I have been here before. We know what we like.” Ana’s apologetic smile was somehow gentle and mischievous at the same time.

“Yes, but they’ve promised to start on the appetizers first before starting on our meals.” Jack nods to the chefs.

One is working on what looks like a thin bread topped with chunks of lobster, tomatoes and a few different cheeses. The other is preparing a roll of sushi that looks to be a narzushi roll.

“I thought you might be in the mood for sushi.” Jessica murmurs to Natasha with a warm smile.

Natasha returns her smile, she’s always in the mood for sushi, “Thank you.”

The menu itself has a variety of different meals, but only one or two in each section. There’s italicized wording underneath each section that tells of the ability to customize each meal to your liking. That must be where the price comes in. Carefully thinking about which would be the best meal to be seen eating, Natasha’s eyes linger on one meal simply labeled as Scarlet Snapper, but the description had her mouth watering; aji potato croquette, shiso gremolata, smoked bacon both?

Beside her, Edgar was reading the menu with a pinched look, mouthing the words to something off of the menu. When he noticed her attention, he turned his menu towards her and pointed at the Market Fish Ceviche. Natasha raised a brow at him, before turning to one of the chefs who had wandered over.

“Ready to order?” He asked with a heavy Spanish accent and a wide smile.

“Yes, I’ll have the Scarlet Snapper. Just the way it is on the menu sounds fine.” Natasha told the chef who nodded dutifully and turned towards Edgar.

“I’ll have the…” Edgar pauses, looking over the menu one last time, “I’ll have the Crispy Eggplant Katsu, with extra hummus?” Edgar looked up at the chef with a hopeful expression.

“Sí, sí! And if it’s not enough hummus, just let me know and I’ll whip you up some more!” The chef tells him excitedly and leaves to the kitchen that’s in full view of their table.

The other chef drops off the two plates of appetizers, dropping the pizza look-a- like in front of Ana and Jack and the sushi in front of Edgar and Natasha. He then joins the other chef in the kitchen to help prepare the meals.

“You didn’t order an appetizer?” Natasha asks Jessica when she refuses a piece of sushi.

“Oh no, I’m only here for business. I don’t think I’ll be here for much longer.” Jessica says with a frown and Ana clears her throat.

“I suppose it is time to discuss why we asked you here,” Ana says, “To ease your worries, let me first say that you are not here because we wish to punish you for your actions,” Natasha breathes a slow sigh of relief and allows herself to relax at that, “On the contrary, we were very impressed by what you accomplished in Bangkok and have been keeping a close eye on you since.”

“Not that that’s the only reason we’ve been watching you.” Jack cuts in, his voice no longer friendly, but firm. The kind of voice you’d expect out of a commander. The kind of voice that left no room for argument, god help you if you tried.

Edgar glances at Natasha out of the corner of his eye and sees her frown, tensing once more.

“Yes, there are other reasons.” Ana confirms, “Most importantly, we have been watching you in the case that you receive a contract for one of our heads.”

“Not that that would happen,” Jessica states firmly, “Neither of you may know this, but our agency has an agreement with Overwatch.” She didn’t explain further, which meant that whatever agreement they had with Overwatch was well above Natasha and Edgar’s paygrade. And if they somehow found out, it would be their heads on a contract.

“Yes,” Ana says, an unspoken warning in her voice. Jessica pales a little, but pretends that it doesn’t affect her, “As such, we also have access to your history within the agency and you both have skills that would greatly benefit Overwatch. As you can already tell, our fight against the omnics is never truly over.” Edgar and Natasha both nod in understanding.

“That code of yours is very impressive,” Jack picks up where Ana leaves off, turning his body towards Natasha’s, “That kind of technical skill and creativity is what we’re looking for to improve our own tactics and strategies against the omnics. And of course, your sniping skill is something to be spoken of. I believe that we can improve that skill, one day you may even rival Ana’s skill,” He nods to Ana whose thin smile isn’t quite in appreciation, “And your attention to detail is impressive,” Jack looks to Edgar now, “That and your ability to recognize the correct behavior and attire for a public occasion is nothing to sneeze at. In fact, we need more agents on board who can navigate both the battlefield and the social field.” Jack smiles and Natasha can tell that he’s struggling to not laugh at his own joke, but then he quickly sobers, “Having the two of you in Overwatch would prove invaluable. Not only would you benefiting our organization, but the world. You would be helping to protect the innocent, not just from omnics, but from terrorist organizations. Like Talon.” Jack breaks eye-contact to glare at the doorway to the room for a moment.

Natasha can’t blame him. Talon is an extremist terrorist organization with unclear goals and a very dangerous reach. So far, Overwatch seemed to be the only thing keeping them at bay and from growing more power, from destroying innocent lives. As Jack returns his eyes to Edgar and then Natasha, she’d already made her decision. She wanted, no, needed, to be in Overwatch. Being a hitman for hire just wasn’t scratching that itch and after seeing so many innocent people die and being unable to help, Natasha had been recalling her time in the military.

At least she was able to do some good then, now what was she? Nothing her parents would be proud of, they had no idea what she really did. All they thought was that she had transferred from being a mail courier to freight delivery. But in Overwatch… She could be proud of her work, couldn’t she? She wouldn’t get that creeping feeling of guilt after a satisfying shot. She would know that whoever they pitted her against, they wouldn’t be good. They wouldn’t be another innocent life that was just in the way of someone else’s upward climb. Even if Jessica never gave them the full details of their contract, not that Natasha bothered asking, it was sometimes blatantly obvious that the only reason someone had been given the death sentence was that they were in someone else’s way.

Natasha looks at Edgar to try and gauge how he feels about Jack’s speech. But Edgar has cleared his expression, and his resting face betrays none of his thoughts. So Natasha relaxes her own face, left to wonder what Edgar thought.

“This isn’t a decision that you have to make right now. We’ll send you an email with all the details, including benefits, salary and available housing options. Unfortunately though, the offer will only be available for a short period of time.” Ana explains after giving them some time to process what Jack had said.

“Of course, if you decide to stay with us, you will be given a bonus for loyalty,” Jessica starts after Ana had finished.

That explained why she was being so generous. 

Edgar scratches his chin as he thinks over that option, “What kind of bonus are we talking about? Because I got a loyalty bonus when I signed back on with her,” Edgar nods to Natasha, “And I wouldn’t really have called it a bonus, more like a…” Edgar snaps his fingers a few times, trying to find the right word, “That thing, not a raise…” He nudges Natasha who gives him an unimpressed look.

“A merit increase?” She supplies dryly.

“Yes! That, a merit increase.” Edgar nods self-assuredly, looking a little too proud of himself.

Jessica stares at him for a moment with eyes that speak of irritation and frustration, “I’ll send you an email with all the details.” She grounds out and then clears her throat, “Now if we’re done here, I think I’ll take my leave.” 

Everyone at the table stands when Jessica does, Jack and Ana exchange pleasantries with her and then Edgar and Natasha do the same. Jessica gives them a look over and smiles a little sadly at them, as though she already knows what their decision will be.

Edgar, at least, is still on the fence, but one look at Natasha makes him sigh inwardly. Even if it had been his plan to retire within the next year and drag Natasha into retirement with him, he knew she wouldn’t go for it. He could already see the excitement brimming in her eyes and how she looked up at him with those green eyes, so filled with hope that he would swear they sparkled. He was going to be the one getting dragged around. He just knew it.

The rest of the dinner should have been awkward and tense, but Jack seems to have a way of charming anyone he talks to and puts both Edgar and Natasha at ease. Jack, Ana and Natasha exchange stories of their experience of their time in their respective militaries. Edgar tells them about how he originally intended to join the Russian military, but his parents had fled with him to France during the Omnic Crisis before he had the chance.

“It was wonderful to meet the both of you,” Ana tells them outside of the restaurant, “I do hope you’ll consider joining our cause. As Jack has said, you would both prove invaluable to Overwatch.” 

“When you receive our email you should read it carefully, and take your time to make sure you’re making the right decision.” Jack tells them sternly.

Natasha feels the urge to salute him and bark out a ‘Sir, yes, sir’, but she manages to smile politely at him instead while Edgar replies, “Of course, this is an important decision to make after all!” 

Jack’s stern expression breaks into a smile at that, but then Jack and Ana’s cab pulls up to collect them and-

“Abdul?!” Edgar gasps, hand flying dramatically to his chest in mock betrayal. His hand is also inching towards his gun.

Natasha slaps her forehead with her hand and lowers her head to cover her shame, “Hey, Carl.” She calls out to him.

Natasha shouldn’t be surprised. And a part of her really isn’t because it expects this kind of thing on a daily basis. A sudden, but inevitable betrayal, usually followed closely by a stab or a gun going off. 

Abdul-Carl does none of these. He simply glares at Edgar, but offers Natasha a bright smile and a vigorous wave, which she returns, albeit reluctantly. 

“It was nice meeting you! I hope to see you soon!” Carl calls out of the cab as Jack opens the cab’s rear door for Ana. He waves at them again, once Jack and Ana are safely buckled in the back, before he takes off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sorry for the cliffhanger last chapter. It wasn't really a cliffhanger, let's be honest, but it was fun right?! And look! My favorite Overwatch member, Ana Amari in all of her sparkling glory oh god she's so beautiful :'D Don't worry, we'll get to the Overwatching part... At some point.


	3. [ERROR]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past is contemplated. Decisions are made.

Natasha had spent nearly three hours pouring over the contract sent by Overwatch. Edgar had, so far, spent almost five. And he was currently still picking it apart. Natasha had since moved on to the ‘bonus’ contract that Jessica had sent over. It was more of a promotion than a bonus; twenty-percent higher pay, access to the armory, a jump to a higher rank within the agency, high-end contracts, and an all-expense-paid two-week vacation each year. 

Overwatch offered stability, structure, tighter ranks, and benefits. Like dental. No one ever offered dental! But there was also designated beneficiaries, they would pay funeral costs if you died in combat, housing options that included off-base housing, and uniforms. Natasha loved uniforms, they took away the stress of trying to find an outfit to wear.

But it was truly having the ability to assign a beneficiary, someone who would collect her paycheck after she died, that stood out to her. With her parents set as her beneficiaries, she wouldn’t have to worry about any financial struggle they might come across, she wouldn’t have to worry about them receiving the money that was owed to them after her death. They would be fine, they would be well taken care of.

Natasha would never fail them. Even in death.

These thoughts swirl in Natasha’s mind as she stares blankly out of the hotel window, idly biting her thumbnail as she plans her future with Overwatch. Edgar glances at her every now and then as he scours the contract Overwatch sent them and compares it to the contract Jessica sent them. No matter which way he looks at it, Overwatch has the better offer. For Natasha, at least. 

Though, Edgar does have to agree that it would be nice to know his money would be going to family after his death. He thinks that he’ll split the title between his two younger siblings. Even if he never really talks to them these days, he still cares. Edgar has Natasha keep tabs on them, which has proved to be pointless. The little brats are goody-two-shoes who stay on the right side of the law and ignore the darker parts of the world. It’s probably for the best, really. They have such bright and hopeful ideals, Edgar wouldn’t want to take any of that away from them.

“Well?” Natasha asks at around 10 p.m., figuring Edgar has had plenty of time to look over both offers.

Edgar sighs loudly and drops his tablet beside him on the bed, “Overwatch’s offer beats Jessica’s.” He confirms.

Natasha beams at him, “Want to join with me?” She asks. She watches Edgar pretend to mull it over and holds back a chuckle. Of course Edgar would join, it’s an excellent opportunity for them to do some real good in the world. And that’s what they both wanted in the end, to do something good.

“I guess,” He draws out, “It would be nice to have a stable job… and I’ve always wanted to join the military.” He then beats his chest twice with his fist. “I will do Mother Russia proud!” He proclaims, his Russian accent coming out in full swing. 

Normally, Edgar’s accent is more central-American, but every now and again his Russian comes out. Natasha can never tell which part of Russia his accent comes from, because there’s also a bit of a French lull in there. It’s almost like he can’t decide which country he’s from. 

Natasha thanks him for his decision by tackling him on to the bed and kissing him fully on the mouth. He chuckles at her excitement and ignores the swell of warmth in his heart as he rolls them over so that he’s on top. Natasha laughs too, though hers is more breathless. Edgar can’t help but stare at Natasha with her black hair spread out underneath her and her eyes shinning with joy. The shitty light of the hotel room does nothing to take away from her beauty.

“Marry me.” The words leave Edgar’s mouth in a small rush and he’s unsurprised when Natasha rolls her eyes at him. 

“Really?” She asks him, her mouth twisting in disappointment and that shinning joy is replaced with exasperation.

Edgar groans in frustration when she pushes him off and flops down onto the bed next to her, “One day you’re gonna say yes,” He tells her. 

“Uh-huh, and we’ll have a nice house with a big picket fence and a hundred children.” Natasha replies, repeating a line he fed her one drunken night a few months ago. She hadn’t taken him seriously then, either. Natasha rolls over and pulls the covers over herself, “Good night.”

“Good night,” Edgar frowns and glares at the ceiling. 

He wonders, not for the first time, why Natasha doesn’t take his proposal seriously. Sure, he enjoys keeping the mood light and maybe he does enjoy comedic relief a little too much, but how many times does a man have to propose to the same woman before she believes him? So maybe Edgar had agreed to a casual relationship when they first met, but they’d been together for two years now. Edgar knew her better than anyone, he watched her back better than anyone, hell he probably even cared about her more than her own parents! He turns his head to look at Natasha, her back facing him. He wonders what he could possibly do to make her see how serious he was about them. Maybe he could even convince her to retire? They could run a farm out somewhere, probably a few miles away from her parents. He could move his own parents out with them. Things would be quiet and nice. They’d get plenty of land for crops and animals. Maybe even have a couple of kids. 

It’s a pipe dream, but Edgar wants it so badly it hurts.

The next morning, Natasha and Edgar are both sitting on the bed, Natasha is working on their resignation letters for the agency and tying up any lose ends within it. Edgar is working on their acceptance letters for Overwatch.

As Natasha is writing their resignation letters, she thinks about the history the agency has on record for them. Even if she elects to have the records destroyed there would still be at least one copy floating around in the void. There was no real way of ensuring that they would never be found or targeted. The agency also offered a protection plan that guaranteed that they wouldn’t be targeted by their agency or any other groups they might be allied with. But if they joined Overwatch, would they still need to pay the fee? Jessica had stated in her offer that if they rejected it and joined Overwatch, there would be no need… But what if she was lying? What if it was a trap? What if this whole ‘Join Overwatch! Become a HERO!’ thing was a trap?

“Have you ever thought about settling down?” Came a question that throws Natasha completely off of her train of thought and startles her back into reality.

Natasha blinks slowly and turns her head towards Edgar, “What?” She replies intelligently. 

“Settling down? You know,” Edgar breaks eye contact with her to look out of the window, spotting a family piling into a large van, “Retiring and just… living on the countryside. Maybe starting a family?” He looks back to her, carefully keeping his expression as blank as possible.

Natasha purses her lips, setting her tablet down in her lap, “I thought about it once.” She admits, “Before I met you,” She takes a deep breath and scratches the back of her head, “After my partner, Clair, died I… thought about what I was doing with my life. If was all really worth it. I thought about going back to my old job and just going back through the regular routine.” 

There’s a long and abrupt silence as Natasha stares at the T.V., lost in the past.

“But you didn’t.” Edgar comments quietly. 

“No, I didn’t.” Natasha agrees and then picks back up her tablet, her chest feels tight and her hands shake slightly, but she hides that from Edgar. He doesn’t need to know.

Natasha hates talking about the past, hates talking about how it affects her, how it feeds her fear of a ‘normal’ life. She’ll never admit that she’s come to love what she does, that she loves the rush of combat, the satisfaction of a kill. She doesn’t want to think about what that means, doesn’t want to think about how that would affect her if she tried to settle down. So she doesn’t think about settling down, about starting a family, about leaving all the bloodshed behind. She just takes a deep breath and moves on with her life, living from hotel room to hotel room. From contract to contract. From kill to kill.

Edgar waits for her to explain, but by the way she’s steadfastly ignoring him, he realizes he’s not going to get anything more out of her.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” Edgar says to the silence of the room. 

There’s another pause, but it’s shorter this time, “Yeah, I know.” 

It’s a shut-down, Edgar knows. Natasha won’t talk to him about this, or about anything that happened before they met. He tries not to let it get to him, but it hurts, and he can’t deny that. So Edgar gets up from the bed and tosses his tablet next to Natasha and then shrugs on his jacket, swiping a key for the hotel room and his wallet.

“That’s ready to be sent out,” He tells Natasha before he shuts the door.

Natasha frowns at the door, wondering if she said something wrong. It’s not like she’s never talked about her past with him before, they had their little powwow back after Bangkok. Natasha recalls mentioning her brother once before, but she’d never gotten passed the part where he died. She never told Edgar about the aftermath of that. She did tell him that she didn’t like talking about the past, that she’d rather just keep moving forward and Edgar had told her that was fine, that she didn’t need to talk about it if she didn’t want to. So why would he be so upset about it now? Natasha thinks about his proposal and considers the words and what they meant.

Could he have been serious…? 

“No,” Natasha scoffs and shakes her head. He would have said something months ago if he felt something more for her and he wouldn’t start off with a proposal! Who did that? 

“Creeps.” Natasha tells herself, “Creeps do that.” She reassures herself that Edgar is more likely frustrated with having to do paperwork. He hates paperwork.

Edgar comes back just as Natasha has finished proofreading the acceptance letters. They aren’t bad, but they’re a little too lax for her liking so Natasha beefs them up with a bit of military jargon and fixes a few sentences that are out of place.  
Natasha takes a quick glance up at him, noting that he looks refreshed, if not a little wind-blown, and then sends out all of the letters. 

“Feel better?” Natasha asks Edgar as he’s taking his jacket off. She tilts her head in confusion when Edgar seems to freeze for a moment. 

“Yeah,” Edgar clears his throat, “Yeah, I’m fine. Did you send that stuff out?” He asks, nodding his head towards the tablet.

“Yeah, it’s all sent out.” Natasha looks Edgar over with a critical eye, trying to find anything out of place on his person.

There’s nothing. Edgar looks exactly the same as he’d left that morning and Natasha can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Instead of questioning his behavior, Natasha decides to take his words at face value. If he wants to talk about whatever is going on in his head, he will.

She turns back to her tablet and opens up her email, gearing up to write to her parents and let them know that she had finished her ‘delivery’ and was going on another one. She doesn’t mention Edgar, they had no idea he even existed, but she made sure to allude to a partner that was ‘riding’ with her. While she does this, Edgar hops on to the bed next to her and opens his own tablet, hunting down an older app so that he can chat with his own parents.

Edgar’s family knows about Natasha and has some idea about their relationship. Hell, Natasha even speaks with a few of them regularly. It’s a bit odd, considering that Natasha doesn’t speak much with her own family, but she’s gotten used to it.

The video-call Edgar makes only takes a few minutes to connect, and then an older woman with barely any wrinkles shows up on the screen, smiling brightly.

“Edgar! Natasha!” She cries, her Russian accent was thicker than Natasha remembers, “How are my little ones?” 

“Hi, Mama!” Edgar cries just as eagerly and leans over so that Natasha is fully in view of his mother. 

“Hello, Olya.” Natasha glances up from her email to smile politely at the slowly aging woman. 

“We’re fine, Mama. We just finished a gig,” Edgar tells her, slipping into Russian as he speaks with his mother and tells her about the restaurant and café they had visited. 

Edgar’s parents know exactly what they do for a living and, according to Edgar, had only recently come to terms with the fact that their darling child was a paid serial killer. They still haven’t forgiven Edgar’s Uncle for introducing him to the agency that picked them both up. Natasha glances at Olya every now again, only half paying attention to the conversation between mother and son. While she wasn’t necessarily fluent, she knew enough from Edgar to get the gist of the conversation. She was waiting for the moment that Edgar would tell his mother that they joined Overwatch. Natasha really wanted to see how the older woman would react. As she waited, finishing up her email and sending it off, her phone buzzed on the nightstand. 

_Kid with weird foot fetish  
I did it! I got in to Harvard!!!_

_N  
Way to go, kid! Have fun in America!_

_Kid with weird foot fetish  
Don’t tell Mama I want to tell her myself!_

_N  
Was that you I spotted creeping in the background?_

_Kid with weird foot fetish  
Yes!_

_N  
Are you suggesting that I lie to mother Russia_

_Kid with weird foot fetish  
Not lie! No lies! Just… don’t tell? Omelet it_

_N  
You want me to make you breakfast?_

_Kid with weird foot fetish  
Omit** _

_N  
Ah, no breakfast then. I’ll tell her._

_Kid with weird foot fetish  
Nooooooooooo!! Why do you do this to me??? DDD::::_

_N  
Because you touch yourself at night_

_Kid with weird foot fetish  
Well you touch Edgar, and that’s super gross! Don’t tell Edgar either, he’ll want to visit me and then people will know that I’m related to him!_

_N  
I’ll touch your mom if you keep sassing me_

 

Suddenly a harsh cry sounds from the tablet and Olya whips her head around and scowls before turning back to Edgar, “I’m sorry my spring chickens, Mama needs to go now and teach her awful children why it is rude to interrupt a conversation.”

There’s the sound of protest before Olya makes kissey faces and then the call disconnects. 

“What happened? What did those brats do this time?” Edgar turns to Natasha, knowing that she knows what was going on in the background of the call.

Natasha shrugs and pretends to be a little too invested in her phone before replying, “I don’t know, probably has something to do with Viktor getting into Harvard.” 

Edgar’s jaw drops and his eyes go wide. He draws in a slow breath and releases the loudest squeal Natasha has ever heard him make. Natasha can just barely make out the words ‘I’m so proud!’ out of the rush of Russian gibberish that escapes Edgar, and then he tackles her into a hug and grips her so tightly that she wheezes from the air being forcibly expelled from her lungs. He then, rather abruptly, pushes Natasha until he’s an arm’s length away from her.

“How do you know this?” He glares at her suspiciously.

“Because you asked me to keep an eye on them?” Natasha raises a brow.

“Pfft,” Edgar scoffs, “I know that! I mean how do you know? I didn’t even know he was trying to get into Harvard!” Edgar finally lets go of Natasha, turning his back to her as he pouted.

“He texts me,” Natasha shoves her phone into Edgar’s line of sight so that he can look over the texts, “Oh, by the way, Katya has a new boyfriend,” She leans on Edgar so that she can see what she’s doing as she swipes into the texts she’d received from Katya days ago.

There’s a small picture of Katya smiling happily with a man that looks to be well into his forties. His short hair is mostly gray and he looks far too smug in the picture. Natasha knows, without even having to look at Edgar, that he is fuming. 

Edgar hums in acknowledgement at seeing the photo, but doesn’t move. His fingers dig into his thighs and he clears his throat a couple times. Natasha quietly puts her phone back on the nightstand and then begins to knead Edgar’s shoulders, noting a tight knot and focuses her efforts to smooth it out. As she works on easing the tension out of Edgar’s shoulders, Natasha begins to place light kisses on his neck to help distract him.

Because if there’s anything that can distract Edgar from anything remotely unpleasant, it’s sex.

Once her hands begin to drift lower and move from firm massages to soft caresses, Edgar seems to forget that his baby sister is dating someone far too old for her. He turns around and begins to crawl on top of Natasha, his hooded eyes watching her closely as she eases herself onto her back. 

Edgar nudges himself between Natasha’s legs and drags his tongue along the side of her throat, and then moves to the other side to suck at the skin beneath the back of her jaw. Natasha bites off a moan and squeezes Edgar’s sides between her thighs to draw his hips down to hers. Edgar smirks at this and places a hand on either thigh and spreads her legs away from him and then pulls away from her when she leans forward, chasing after his lips with a pout.

“Ah,ah,ah,” He scolds tapping Natasha’s nose and snickering when she snaps her teeth at his finger, “It’s my turn.” Edgar takes a hold of Natasha’s hands and places them above her head. He then leans in close enough that his lips graze her ear, “What’s his name?” He whispers in a sultry tone.

“Edgar.” Natasha says dryly, “I’m not giving you his name.” 

“Come on!” Edgar shoves himself away from Natasha, so she sits up to glare at him.

“Edgar, she’s old enough to make her own decisions!” Natasha grabs the collar of Edgar’s shirt and tugs him back to her, “Now quit thinking about your sister and fuck me already!” 

“Oh yeah,” Edgar says nonchalantly, “Let me just bend you over the bed while I think about my sister getting RAILED IN THE ASS BY A WRINKLY, OLD DICK!” He shouts, throwing his hands in the air, “I can’t not think about my precious baby sister being taken advantage of by some decrepit old man! Did you see that smug look on his face? He’s just using her!”

“And she’s using him, dumbass.” Natasha snarls, “How do you think she can afford to live out on her own when she has an associates degree in liberal arts?!” Edgar gags at that and roughly pulls himself out of Natasha’s grip. She rolls her eyes at his childish behavior. 

“I can’t believe you just insinuated that my sister is whoring herself out like that!” Edgar cries.

He covers his face with his hands and continues to gag at the thought, muttering complaints and insults about the man ‘taking advantage of my sweet, innocent little sister!’. Natasha growls in frustration and lets herself fall back on the bed, contemplating the effort it would take to get Edgar back into the mood. Truthfully, Natasha’s not really interested in playing the aggressor again. She’s always preferred rough treatment and baiting that out of Edgar can be exhausting. Especially when he prefers the soft and slow sex that takes all night. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but it gets tiring and boring very quickly. She swears that Edgar was a virgin when they first got together, but he’s assured her multiple times that he’s had multiple partners before her. 

“Fine,” Natasha says loud enough to cut Edgar off from his ranting, “Then at least help me pack.” Edgar moans in response and crumbles to the ground, leaning on the bed as he does so.

“But packing is so boooorrriinng,” He whines. Natasha kicks his shoulder. It’s not very effective since she has to stretch out and loses most of the push behind the kick, so it turns out to be more like a nudge. 

“Then go out and get a me something to eat while I pack. I’m starving.” Natasha huffs and pulls herself off the bed. 

There isn’t really much to pack away, considering they shoved most of their belongings back into their bags after they used them, but Natasha still combs the entire room the ensure that they don’t forget anything.

When Edgar comes back with an arm cradling a bag of fast-food, Natasha has everything packed away and the hotel room is missing most of its amenities. She leaves the bible where she found it, thinking it would be a step too far to steal a religious item.

“I got tacos,” Edgar tells her, tossing her the bag, “I already ate mine.” 

Natasha catches the bag with ease and eagerly digs in to the greasy food, “Fuck, I love tacos. I’d kill a man for tacos.” She says in thanks.

Edgar stares at Natasha as she stuffs her mouth with two hard-shell tacos at a time, “So…”

“Give me a name and he’s dead.” Natasha winks at him and Edgar sighs. 

“I mean, technically speaking, you already have the name.” He grumbles and sits down on the bed.

“Yes, but I have many names in my repertoire. You’ll have to be more specific.” Natasha speaks around the food, pausing only to swallow, before digging back into the bag and pulling out a plastic container filled with nachos. She gasps in awe, “Nachos.” She whispers lovingly. 

“So, about that name?” Edgar smiles as sweetly as he can manage. 

Natasha peels off the lid of the container, critically eyeing her meal. Her face scrunches in disgust, “Avocado? Really? I was so ready to kill Katya’s lover, too.” Thankfully there’s only a dollop of avocado on the side, so the nachos aren’t a complete loss. 

Edgar groans and falls back on the bed, his arms spread out to take up as much space as possible. He groans even louder and flails about the bed when Natasha makes a move to sit down and enjoy the majority of her nachos. 

“You’re a child.” Natasha chuckles. She sits on the cadenza instead.

“Do you know what that makes you?” Edgar lifts his head up, “A pedophile.” He says and then sticks his tongue out at her.

Natasha raises an eyebrow at him in response. She then lifts up a nacho chip for Edgar to see, scoops up as much of the avocado dip as she can onto it, and then flings it at Edgar.

She only has a brief moment to drop the nachos beside her before Edgar is on her, shoving his avocado covered lips against hers. Natasha squeals in disgust at the taste when Edgar manages to slip his tongue past her lips. 

“Edgar!” She protests, even as he lifts her off the cadenza, giving her butt a firm squeeze. 

“Avocados are good for you.” Edgar tells her just before he throws her onto the bed.

Natasha lands on the remnants of the nacho she’d thrown at Edgar, but she doesn’t have much time to think about that before Edgar is on her again. He practically steals her breath away with a passionate kiss. Her shirt and pants are off before she even has a moment to breathe. 

As Edgar takes the time to remove his own shirt and pants, Natasha uses the moment to check the covers behind her, “You better not fuck me on that shit.” She mutters, but is satisfied to see that Edgar must have used her shirt to wipe most of it away.

“Oh, I’m gonna fuck you in a vat of avocados if you keep it up.” Edgar says.

He crawls back over her, kissing her when she lays back down. He doesn’t break their kiss as he smooths his body against hers, his hands roaming up her sides and around her back. One hand un-hooks her bra while the other draws a strap off her shoulder. In one smooth motion, Edgar has her bra flinging behind them. 

It catches the edge of the T.V. and hangs there. Natasha would have marveled at the luck of that if not for the fact that Edgar was demanding all of her attention.

Edgar begins to trail kisses down her jaw, and then her neck, stopping to suck at the skin enough to leave a mark every now and again, drawing low moans from Natasha. She runs her nails up his back and into his hair as his kisses move over her collar bone and down her chest until he captures a nipple in his mouth. He uses his teeth to tease the hardening bulb as he alternates between squeezing and massaging her other breast. Natasha arches he back into his touch and scratches Edgar’s scalp in appreciation. She almost doesn’t notice Edgar’s other hand rubbing slow circles on her hip until it moves down under her panties and finds that little button that makes her whine and grind her hips against his hand.

While his thumb works circles around her clit, his fingers move to slip their way into her tight, warm passage. As his longer fingers probed and rubbed her vaginal walls, his lips came back up to meet hers, swallowing her mewls and moans. He continues thrusting his fingers in her wet cunt, his fingers slick and his thumb pressing hard on her clit until she cries out in pleasure as her orgasm crashes over her. With a self-satisfied smirk, Edgar continues his thrusting until Natasha is pushing him away and trying to wiggle out from underneath him.

“Too much!” She whines against his lips. 

Edgar simply chuckles and wraps his free hand in her hair to give it a tug, “One more, baby. Just one more.” He tells her as her cries get louder.

The pleasure is bordering on pain at this point, but Edgar doesn’t let up until he coaxes another toe-curling orgasm out of Natasha. 

Even then Natasha has to bat his hand away, “Fuck, Edgar! Stop already!”. 

Edgar complies, finally, and rolls onto his side to give Natasha room to breathe as she lays there panting with her eyes closed. He waits until she cracks an eye open to glare at him and then makes a show of licking his hand clean. With both eyes now open, Natasha watches him and bites her lip. Her eyes dart down to his rock hard cock, already leaking precum and looking particularly stiff. 

Natasha reaches down to give his cock a few strokes, her cunt aching to have it inside of her, “Well?” She makes herself comfortable as Edgar rolls back on top of her.

“Just wanted to make sure you were ready.” Edgar assures her with a deep kiss, his tongue slipping passed her lips again to wrestle with Natasha’s tongue.

Impatient, Natasha gives Edgar’s cock a not-so-gentle squeeze, making Edgar grunt in response. He nips her lip for that, but allow her to guide him into her eagerly waiting pussy. Edgar groans at the tightness of Natasha’s pussy as he eases himself inside of her.

“God, I love the way your pussy just squeezes my cock. It’s like it can’t live without it.” He mutters into Natasha’s ear. 

“It would love it even more if you moved a little faster.” Natasha replies and turns her head to lick Edgar’s ear.

Edgar simply chuckles and takes his time to slide his cock into Natasha’s pussy until he bottoms out. When he doesn’t move after that, Natasha squeezes his cock with the walls of her vagina, earning a strangled moan and an unsatisfying twitch of Edgar’s hips.

“Message received.” He bites her neck. 

And then takes his time pulling his cock out of Natasha’s pussy, he tangles a hand in her hair to keep her teeth away from him as he continues his slow thrusting. Natasha groans in frustration and struggles in vain to move her own hips to force him to go faster. Edgar won’t have it, though, and holds her hips down firmly with his other hand, leaning on it with most of his body weight to ensure that she won’t get the momentum she needed. 

“Edgar!” She groans, using her nails to scratch long, angry red lines down Edgar’s back.

“Ah! The claws!” Edgar cries, and his hips jerk forward, slamming his cock into Natasha’s cunt with a loud slap of their hips. Natasha gasps and digs her nails deeper into Edgar’s back, breaking the skin, “Babe, please, the nails!” Edgar pleads and let’s his grip on her hair go in an attempt to remove her claws from his back.

With Edgar’s guard down, Natasha flips them over, determined to take control, but this time Edgar doesn’t give up easily and wrestles with her on the bed. While Natasha is fully willing to throw them off of the bed to win, Edgar makes a great effort to keep them on the bed. His strength gives him an advantage in this, and despite how slippery Natasha can be, Edgar winds up winning their wrestling match. He has Natasha on her knees, the soft cheeks of her ass flush against his hips and her face pressing into the mattress and gasping as Edgar thrusts back into her. From this position, he easily manages to get the right angle to hit that sweet spot that has Natasha grasping at the sheets and thrusting her hips back to meet his. 

Natasha’s moans of pleasure get louder and higher in pitch with each thrust as it sends her closer and closer to the edge. She’s so close and desperate for relief, but there’s just something missing that keeps her orgasm just out of reach.

“Edgar, please!” She begs as Edgar increases the speed of his thrusts, “Fuck, I- I need…” She cuts herself off with a whine as Edgar’s hand reaches down to give her clit a pinch. 

Natasha lets out a loud cry as a wave of pleasure hits her. Edgar vigorously rubs her clit as he continues thrusting, drawing close to his own release as he works Natasha through her orgasm. Her tight cunt squeezes him beautifully as she cums and he slams his cock as deep inside of her as he can when his own orgasm hits him. 

They both lay there, panting and sweaty. It’s gross and irritating when Edgar doesn’t immediately move off of Natasha, so she whines at him until he does, his softening cock popping out of her and making them both grunt at the feeling. Edgar rolls onto his back, still trying to catch his breath as Natasha flattens herself on the bed. Her muscles protest at the movement, but she enjoys the sore ache when she stretches out.

It takes a few minutes for them to finally cool down and relax. Edgar has already discarded the used condom and rolls over to throw half of his body over Natasha’s. She cracks an eye open to glare at him, they’re both still sweaty, but Edgar’s eyes are closed, and he looks close to nodding off to sleep. 

“I wonder if Katya’s lover fucks her like you fuck me or if they tie each other up.” Natasha comments after a few quiet minutes. She watches Edgar’s eyes open, glaring at the wall behind her and smiles gleefully when Edgar rolls off of her, his back facing her.

“We are _never_ having sex again.” Edgar growls. He proceeds to steal all of the covers, wrapping himself in a nice, fluffy burrito and Natasha laughs at him for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you worry your pretty little heads, my smut game is totally gonna get better! Just... just please be patient with me ;_; I hope you enjoyed this chapter, none the less and NEXT CHAPTER we are FINALLY overwatching. To a degree. Also, sorry for the late(ish) chapter. I got distracted by many things.


	4. The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where it all began.

Natasha expected a few quiet days before they heard anything from Overwatch, that’s what happened with the agency. However, when she woke up it was to a letter from Jessica accepting their resignation along with a note of good luck and a promise to meet up for lunch every now and again.

That sounded nice, Jessica had been good to them. Even if she’d probably still make them pay for lunch.

Not a minute passes after she replies to Jessica when a knock sounds at the door. Natasha jerks, her head whipping around to face the door. There’s a pause and then another knock that Edgar groans loudly at.

“Wake wakey!” A familiar voice calls from the other side of the door. 

“Fuck off back to Arabia, Mohammed!” Edgar snarls almost immediately while Natasha relaxes. 

The lock on the door chirps brightly, flashing a small green light, and then Carl is poking his head through the cracked open door. He smiles widely at Natasha and she smiles back at him.

“I brought some doughnuts.” He tells her in a soft voice, slipping through the door and shutting it quietly. His eyes fall onto Edgar and Natasha catches his lips twitch in amusement when Edgar thrusts his hand out from under the blanket and grabs at the air.

“Good morning, Carl.” Natasha greets him politely and folds her legs underneath her so that Carl can sit on the edge of the bed. 

“Morning!” Carl hands her a lightly powdered doughnut and then grabs a chocolate frosted one and places it in Edgar’s grabby hand.

Edgar mutters something that _sounds_ like ‘morning’, but could also be an insult.

“I take it that you’re our transport?” Natasha asks before she bites into her morning treat, half of her attention is on the tablet waiting for some confirmation from Overwatch.

“Yup!” Carl pulls out the last doughnut, plain, and crumbles up the bag in a neat little ball.  
Just as he verbally confirms this, Natasha receives an email from an Overwatch Official. Carl waits patiently while Natasha reads over it, making sure that they were supposed to be expecting Carl and not someone else. When she’s satisfied that they aren’t about to fall into a trap, she nudges Edgar.

“Come on, Edgar. Carl got here just in time to pick us up.” Edgar groans loudly in response, the grating noise turning into a whine as he slowly stretches himself out. It turns into a yelp when Natasha pinches his leg as soon as it peaks out from underneath the blanket. 

“Fine,” Edgar growls, “I’m getting up.” He moves just as slowly as he stretched, sliding out of bed and then stretching his arms up to the ceiling. 

Carl’s eyes go wide at the sight of Edgar’s naked backside, and then his head whips towards the window when Edgar turns around to wink at Natasha. 

“Go get dressed, you’re wasting time.” Natasha chides. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m going.” Edgar snatches his bag and, thankfully, retreats into the bedroom. 

Carl clears his throat, his cheeks a light pink, “Very… uhm… Confident, isn’t he?” Carl keeps his eyes on the window, or something outside.

“Yeah, he can be a pain in the ass sometimes.” Natasha reaches over to pat Carl on the back in sympathy, “I think he likes you, if it makes you feel any better.” 

Carl gives her a dry look at that and Natasha snickers before she finishes her breakfast. Edgar is quick to change and joins them only a moment later, his own doughnut taking up all of the space in his mouth as he attempts to talk around it.

Carl’s look turns from dry to disappointed, “Why are all the hot ones assholes?” Carl whispers loudly to Natasha. 

“Hmey!” Edgar shouts and then makes a great deal of effort to keep his doughnut from leaving his mouth as he attempts to finish it.

“I’m not sure,” Natasha whispers back, “I’d say it’s because all their blood is feeding the lower brain, but it’s never big enough to have such an impact on their neural processing.” She shakes her head mournfully and Carl barks out a laugh while Edgar almost chokes in an effort to protest Natasha’s claim.

 

 

Carl takes them to the nearby airport by way of public transportation. Neither Edgar nor Natasha are happy about this, but Carl assures them that it would be easier than renting a car for a thirty-minute drive. Which then begs the question, is Overwatch still stalking them? The answer is most definitively a yes. 

The bus ride to the airport takes nearly two hours, but Natasha gets to sit next to a window while Edgar boxes her in and Carl sits comfortably in the seat in front of them, his head resting on a stranger’s shoulder while he naps. Natasha catches the stranger’s reflection in the mirror at the front of the bus and has to bite her lip to keep from giggling. They look so perturbed, but on the same turn of the coin they also seem determined not to bother Carl. Natasha nudges Edgar and nods to the mirror, waiting patiently for his reaction when he sees the poor stranger’s expression. He does not hold back his guffaw, but is quick to slap a hand over his mouth to silence the rest of his laughter. The stranger’s face pinches a bit more and their eyes close, submitting to their fate as a pillow for some man they’ve never met.

At the airport, Carl guides them straight passed the check-in and security by flashing his Overwatch badge. One of the security guards looks a bit miffed and Natasha hears him grumbling about an abuse of power and how Carl could be a terrorist for all they knew. Carl clearly hears this as well, as does Edgar, but he ignores the comment and continues forward.

Edgar _does_ not ignore the comment and instead rounds on the guard with a look that promised retribution, “Listen here, you fat-pig-piece-of-“ Natasha grabs on to Edgar’s collar and yanks him back away from the guard who looks just as eager for a fight as Edgar is.

“I’m sorry about him, have a good day!” Natasha roughly manhandles Edgar into falling back in line behind Carl.

Edgar does not follow as quietly as Natasha would have liked. He mutters to himself in Russian and Natasha definitely hears several threats of terrorism and hopes dearly that no one else catches it.

Carl does, if his chuckling is anything to go by, “Shush, Edgar. It’s fine!” He whispers as he falls back just a bit so that he’s walking in between Natasha and Edgar.

“No, you shut-up, Aladdin! If that even is your _real_ name.” Edgar hisses and Carl rolls his eyes.

“I can promise you that he probably loves you, if that makes you feel any better.” Natasha tells Carl with a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

Edgar glares at her for it while Carl smiles happily. Carl leads them to a gate that has no number or letter associated with it. Natasha almost expects the area to be empty, but there are people milling about, passing through stores, sitting and waiting for a plane. Some of them are wearing Overwatch’s patented blue in various forms of what might be considered a uniform, some of them are in sharp-black suits. It’s likely that few of the people who wander in the area are civilians. 

“We’ll be riding along with a good handful of other recruits,” Carl tells them as he gestures to a few unoccupied seats. As soon as Natasha and Edgar make themselves comfortable, Carl stands at attention, looking at a fixed place somewhere just behind them, feet shoulder-width apart, back straight and arms crossed behind his back, “Once we land you will be expected to be on your best behavior and show the utmost respect to your future commanders and leaders. As recruits, all Overwatch agents are considered a higher rank than you are currently and will be shown the same respect that you would show your commanders. You will be given one day of rest to assimilate yourselves to your new environment. At exactly 0500 hours the following day you will be expected to attend your mandatory ‘Welcome!’ meeting. Failure to attend this meeting will result in your immediate expulsion from Overwatch. Showing up late will result in disciplinary action to be distributed immediately following the meeting. Once the meeting has ended, you will be given further instructions as your Integration Training begins and your trainers assigned.” He nods to himself once, as though congratulating himself on a job well done, and then he takes the seat directly behind him.

“Any questions?” Carl asks, and Edgar raises his hand, “Yes, Edgar?”

“Will there be food?” Natasha sighs and rubs her forehead and Carl makes a sound that was half a laugh.

“Yes, Edgar. If you read all of the paperwork you signed and dated, you would have read the part where it said that there is on-base and off-base housing and a full chow-hall for all agents to use regardless of which housing options they choose.” Edgar ‘woops’ in response, drawing curious and amused looks from the other possible recruits. 

“I have a question,” Natasha says, waiting for Carl’s approval to continue, “Why are we separated from them?” She nods to the other side of the gate where most of the small crowd is seated. 

Most of them look rather young, but there are a few who look to be pushing into their late thirties. There’s two other agents who, like Carl, are recruiters that Natasha can tell, though who knows how many are disguising themselves? That and the other agents obviously wasting time around the shops or staring out of the wall-length windows. Probably waiting for the same plane… or ship. Both?

“Those are fresh recruits with no background knowledge of how an organization like ours would operate. You’ll be going to the same first meeting, but after that your training will be different. For them, they aren’t guaranteed combat roles and might be better suited in support roles or behind the scenes work. You’ve both already agreed to enter combat roles and have prior experience that may or may not need to be polished.” Carl explains, shrugging at the end, “It’s just easier to keep track of you separated like this. My job is just to make sure you board your flight on time and get introduced to the right people. After that, we’ll all part ways.”

Edgar perks up at that, “What do you mean ‘we’ll all’?” His eyes narrow in suspicion. Natasha closes her eyes and sighs deeply.

Carl gives him an apologetic smile, “I mean that after your welcome meeting, you and Natasha might be receiving different training. Natasha has a background in the Military, her integration might be over before yours and she might be assigned to a different team. Not only that, but you both have a separate set of skills that Overwatch is interested in. It’s highly likely that you won’t even be stationed at the same base for your preliminary period. After that, you’ll be able to request to change station. Unless you are critical personnel, Overwatch is pretty lenient when it comes to those requests.” 

Edgar presses his palms together and brings the tip of his fingers to his mouth, which is a flat line of disappointment mixed with a bit of betrayal, “So what you’re saying is… We’ll be separated.” He says this as though the decision was already made, willfully ignoring the chance that they might not be separated.

“No,” Carl draws the word out with hesitance, “I’m saying that it’s possible. I mean, Overwatch has seen your work as a team. They might want to keep you together because of how well you two work together. But…” He scratches the back of his head and looks towards the windows for a moment, “Overwatch has also seen how you operate alone. The decision is above my paygrade, but it’s strictly based on what Overwatch needs at the moment.”

“And we’ll be able to request to be teamed back up,” Natasha adds when Edgar seems to only be more upset with each passing moment, “Honestly, Edgar. This isn’t as big of a deal as you’re making it. At worst we won’t see each other for 6 months to a year.” Natasha rolls her eyes. 

“Yeah!” Edgar snaps, “That’s a long time! What if something happens to you?” He demands, his voice growing louder. The other recruits are staring with obvious concern now. 

Natasha’s eyes narrow and her brow furrows with offence, “If something happens to me, I’ll deal with it. Edgar, I’ve worked alone before.” She keeps her voice as calm as she can, not wanting to have a shouting match in public.

“But you won’t be alone during your preliminary period!” Carl cuts in, leaning forward in his seat to draw their attention, “You’ll both be set up with a team and any ops you go on will be with a team of at least three Cadets and one Captain.”

“Which you’d know if you’d have read what they sent us.” Natasha bit out. 

“But...!” Edgar begins to protest, but Natasha’s harsh glare and the way she crosses her arms, leaning back and practically daring him to push the issue any further has him deflating in his seat. 

Natasha gets up from her seat, “Come talk with me,” She tells Edgar, who follows quietly. 

There isn’t really a place for privacy that wouldn’t put them at risk for missing their flight, and Carl _probably_ wouldn’t let them miss it, but Natasha isn’t willing to risk that. She leads Edgar to a corner of a shop that turns into a hallway that’s mostly empty. There’s a janitor in there cleaning away, but he has headphones on. That doesn’t really mean anything, but it brings a small piece of mind. Natasha stops them at the corner, keeping their gate within her line of sight. Carl looks back at them, twisting in his seat, and gives them a small wave.

“Edgar, why didn’t you read the contract?” Natasha keeps her voice low, places herself close to Edgar so that he won’t have to strain his ears to hear her and crosses her arms.

“I did,” Edgar tells her, and then adds when she raises a brow at him, “I read the important bits. The things that might get us in trouble.” He insists. 

“So you didn’t bother to read about what we’d be _doing_ in Overwatch?” Natasha hisses as she leans further in, making Edgar take a step back, “What were you thinking? Do you even _want_ to join Overwatch?” Her question is quiet, but sharp. It makes Edgar pause as they look each other in the eyes. 

“We make a good team,” Edgar deflects, his chest puffing out as his nostrils flair with his temper, “I don’t want to lose that.”

“But am I _making_ you join Overwatch?” Natasha presses, unwilling to let Edgar avoid her question, “You know you don’t have to follow me around. You aren’t tied to me.” 

Edgar growls in frustration, “No, you aren’t making me do anything! I _am_ my own person! Is it a crime to want to follow the best damned sniper you’ve partnered with?” He sneers, his voice rising again.

“No, it’s not.” Natasha replies with a frown and takes a step back, “It’s just that you’ve been acting a little odd lately,” Natasha thinks back on their partnership and begins to wonder if Edgar truly _has_ been acting oddly, or if she’s just now noticed his behavior. 

Though, Edgar had been anxious and stressed for several months after Bangkok, just like she’d been. Maybe the thought of being pitted against omnics was bringing back bad memories. 

“Well,” Edgar stumbles over his words, “this transition is just stressful! And I would have liked more than a few days to relax after our last contract…” He grumbles and crosses his arms as he pouts.

Natasha nods and gives Edgar a tight-lipped smile, “Yeah, it is,” She agrees. Edgar confirming her thoughts puts her mind at ease. She was worried that something else was bothering him. “Come here,” She holds her arms out to him, “This is stressful for me too, but it is a good opportunity for us.”

He sighs and reluctantly slips into her embrace, squeezing her tightly, “Yeah, I know. It’ll be worth the retirement.” Natasha lets out a small laugh at that, and Edgar chuckles with her. 

It’s an uneasy laughter, there’s still tension between them, but at the very least they’ve managed to avoid a shouting match.

“Alright, come on. Let’s go and wait with Carl so he’s not lonely.” Natasha tells him as she pulls out of the embrace.

Edgar scoffs at that, “Prince Ali is probably too popular to be lonely. I hear ladies dig the chocolate.” He’s a little too eager to switch off of the sensitive subject.

But Natasha can’t see the harm in allowing the change, “I think he’s a little too light for chocolate. Maybe caramel.”

“Whose caramel?” Carl chirps when they sit back down.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to listen in on other peoples’ conversations, Aladdin?” Edgar gripes. 

“Considering that I’m technically your handler? It’s literally my job.” Carl tells them.

Edgar rolls his eyes, muttering ‘whatever’ under his breath. To pass the time, Natasha throws an arm over the back of Edgar’s chair, an unspoken invitation for Edgar to lean on her, as she pulls up a book on her tablet that she’d yet to finish. It was about a young child falling into a magical hole in the ground, revealing an entirely new world of frightening and dangerous monsters. It was a classic that her mother wanted her to read. Edgar doesn’t move any closer, but Natasha can tell that he’s reading with her, and since he read faster than her, Natasha doesn’t have to worry about turning the page before he was ready.

Carl’s attention was on his own tablet, but every now and again, Natasha caught him glancing around the gate. Which was only because she was doing the same thing. Edgar’s focus was only on the book. 

Their plane pulls up to the gate much quieter than any plane Natasha had ridden in. And taking a look at it, Natasha could tell why. It didn’t even look like a plane, more like a heli-carrier mixed with a jet and painted a dull grey. Natasha is only given a moment to admire it before Carl is tapping at her shoulder and gesturing to a line forming at the gate.

There are two guards in sleek, carbon-fiber armor with blue accents at the entrance to the terminal. The rifles they carry look impressive and intimidating, but the small pistols holstered to their sides look less so. Natasha doubts that they do any less damage than the rifles in their hands. Peering down the long hallway, Natasha can see it’s lined with six more guards. There’s probably another two guarding the door to the plane. More inside of it.

At the desk just before the entrance, two agents in Overwatch’s standard-blue uniforms scan and go through all the belongings of each recruit. They check with the recruiters to ensure that everything on their person had already been approved. The punishment for having anything unauthorized would probably be severe. 

Once their belongings are checked and scanned, they themselves are scanned and then finally allowed to enter the terminal. 

Carl keeps Edgar and Natasha at the back of the line, which makes Edgar antsy which in turn makes Natasha nervous. She grabs onto his arm to keep him from fidgeting with the zipper on his bag, because it looks like he’s ready to reach for one of his guns and it makes Natasha want to do the same. That doesn’t look good in front of anyone. Edgar’s hand moves from the zipper to grip her hand on his arm. Whether it’s in thanks or if he simply feels it necessary is something Natasha doesn’t know. They play a few games of thumb-war to keep themselves occupied with Carl quietly refereeing the matches. They both cheat, but Natasha has always been better at hiding it. Even still, Carl calls her out on it, so she ends up losing most of the matches.

When it comes time to be checked and scanned and studied by the guards, Edgar seems at odds with letting her go first or going before her. 

“Ladies first,” Carl says, gently pushing Natasha forward. 

She only has two bags, her rifle’s bag and her duffle bag, and she sets them both on the desk. The agent opens each bag mechanically and is surprisingly gentle with Natasha’s belongings, even seeming to admire her light-pistol. The agent who scans everything for toxins or other hazardous material seems displeased with Carl’s allowance of their weapons, but doesn’t comment on it. He simply frowns heavily at Carl and gives a slow shake of his head. While her belongings are being checked, she gets a full-body scan and an approval to board the plane.

As eager as Natasha is to board the plane and be on their way, she waits for Edgar to pass through the inspection. Though the guard’s faces are covered by helmets with blue visors, Natasha can feel their eyes on her. Thankfully, she doesn’t have to wait long for Edgar and further agitate the guards.

“I can’t believe they touched my precious.” He whines quietly to her as Carl herds them to the door of the plane.

“They touched it gently and with care, I was watching.” Natasha murmurs back to him.

Edgar grumbles anyway, which Natasha finds both amusing and ridiculous seeing as his ‘precious’ is a pen that he stole from a hotel a few months ago. He likes to hide it in his bags or his pockets and refuses to leave it behind, regardless to wherever they go. It’s lucky, he claims.

In the plane there is no seat that is different from the rest, except for the pilots’ seats at the head of the plane. Or perhaps at this point it should be just a heli-carrier. The seats are all against the walls with metal bars above them that they would have to pull down over their chest along with an ‘x’ style seat belt. There are just enough seats for everyone to be properly secured, but their bags are taken and locked into place on the walls in between the rows of seats. 

There is no separating Edgar and Natasha from the rest, save for Carl forcing them at the end of a row and sitting in between Edgar and another recruit. Natasha takes the time to study the other recruits. There’s a rather diverse bunch here, with people from all over the world it would seem. Natasha catches whispered conversations, not what’s spoken, but how. There’s at least three different languages being spoken, and among those that are speaking English, there are at least five accents that aren’t American. 

Given what Natasha knows about Overwatch, this isn’t surprising. They’re dedicated to protecting the entire world from omnics, after all. Not any one country. 

Despite the fact that the heli-carrier could simply pull straight up into the air, the pilot takes them down the runway, same as the other planes. The take-off is a lot smoother as well and while the heli-carrier is still loud on the inside, it’s noticeably quieter than any plane Natasha has been on. The smooth ride makes for an almost lulling sensation, and yet Natasha can’t relax. Her body is tense and her grip on the bars over her chest leaves her knuckles white with the strain. Natasha has managed to control her fear of flying for the most part. Traveling around the world carrying out assassination contracts certainly helped with that, as did her time in the military. But there’s still the underlying fear of ‘what if the plane goes down?’. 

Edgar is tense beside her as well, but he’s keeping his head up and his eyes closed. Natasha copies him and reminds herself that there’s more of a chance that they would die in a car crash than in a plane crash. That and Overwatch’s heli-carriers are supposed to be top-of-the-line. Their safety standards would more or less ensure their survival in the event of a crash.

“Good evening, Recruits!” A voice booms across the heli-carrier as one of the guards that had boarded the plane stands and moves to the middle of the carrier. There’s just enough space for him to move up and down the carrier, “Today you will be making your journey to our main base in Sweden! There, your belongings will be secured away and you will be given standard Overwatch fatigues, uniforms, and work-out gear. Should you pass through boot-camp with flying colours, your belongings will be returned to you and you will be issued those fancy blue uniforms everyone loves, and you will wear them when you are told to. If I see you out at your girlfriend’s brother’s cousin’s 5th birthday party out of your blues when I told you to wear them, I will tear your ass a new one and you will regret that massive mistake you made!” He pauses and his helmet swivels around, studying the expressions on everyone’s face. Some are frightened, others struggle to hide their amusement, some are bored, “Now, _some_ of you will not be joining the others for boot-camp! Instead you will be given Integration Training to assimilate you into our organization. Once you complete this training, you will be given your fancy blues, just like the boots. Someone _please_ tell them how much fun boot-camp is!” It wasn’t a request, it was an order.

“Sir, boot-camp is the most fun I’ve ever had in my life, Sir!” Natasha shouts in response, making her voice as loud and booming as she could. 

The guard immediately rounds on her and almost knocks his helmet into her nose, “What was your favorite part about it, Recruit?!” He demands with a yell, thanks to the helmet amplifying his voice, the sound is almost deafening.

“Eating mud, Sir!” Natasha tries to match his volume, but without anything amplifying her voice, there’s no chance.

“Very good!” He straightens and turns away from her, “Anyone else?”

“Aye, Sir!” One of the older men calls out, his voice grizzled with age. The guard is on him in the blink of an eye, demanding to know his favorite part, “Sandflies, Sir!” Natasha shudders at that. 

“What a disgusting thing to love, Recruit!” 

 

 

The rest of the ride is much the same, with all the veterans trading stories of their times in their respective boot-camps. It takes everyone’s mind off the fact that they’re in the air, something Natasha appreciates and by going on Edgar’s expression of amazement and horror, he is sufficiently distracted as well.

As soon as the heli-carrier lands, the guard with the booming voice is rushing off of the carrier with the recruiters tailing quickly behind him. Even Carl is quick to jump out of his seat. 

Natasha has to grab a hole of Edgar to keep him from following, leaning closer to him as much as she can with the bars still in the way and hisses, “Just follow me.” Edgar gives her a confused look, but nods in compliance. 

Most of the other veterans encourage the younger recruits to stay in their seats, but lift up the bars and un-buckle the seat belts. There’s a murmur of confusion and impatience until the pilots stand and leave. The last one hisses at them to quiet down before exiting. 

The plane is filled with a mixture of nervous tension and excitement. Despite the stories from boot-camp, most of the younger recruits have bright and eager smiles on their faces. Many of them fidget in their seats, waiting for whatever is next. Edgar beside her opens his mouth, prepared to ask a question when a woman in a grey uniform, an NCO practically flies into the carrier, startling everyone when she starts shouting at them. The words practically meld together with how fast she’s yelling them, but Natasha has been through this before and immediately jumps to her feet, pulling Edgar up with her. The other veterans are doing the same, leading the way off the carrier in a rush. Even off of the carrier, Natasha can still hear the woman screaming at the stragglers to get off of her plane.

Much like a banshee, the woman follows them out of the plane, right on their heels. Out of the heli-carrier, they’re on a brightly lit landing pad and a dome-ceiling above them closes. The inside of the large room is painted a light grey and with yellow and red lines designated safe areas to walk and restricted areas where only maintenance was allowed. There’s a small group of individuals in a straight line, side-by-side wearing the same dull-grey uniform that the woman is wearing, more NCO’s, and one SNCO. Behind them are Commander Morrison and Captain Amari in their blues, standing stiff and watching them all with calculating expressions. Natasha wonders if all recruits are given the same treatment. 

“Veterans in front! Boots in back! Feet on the blue footprints!” One of the men in grey shouts. 

There’s a momentary scramble as the Banshee in grey circles them while eager feet plant themselves on blue footprints. The Banshee is very quick to correct their forms and has backs straightened and chins held high in mere moments. She then joins the others in grey once she’s satisfied. Natasha stares forward, in-between two of the NCO’s, careful not to make eye-contact with them. Edgar has mimicked her posture as best as he can beside her, but is unfortunate enough to make eye-contact with the only SNCO.

“Who in the hell are you eye-balling, recruit?!” The man, large and muscular, stomps up to Edgar, “You in the right line?” He barks in Edgar’s face.

“You? Yes?” Edgar replies, and Natasha holds her breath, waiting for the fallout.

The SNCO takes in a deep breath, “You?” His voice booms, echoing off the metal walls, “Yes? That’s ‘Sir, yes, Sir! Please let me lick your boots, Sir!’. Now drop down and give me twenty!” 

Edgar drops to the ground and Natasha gets to be proud for half of a second before Edgar opens his mouth, “I didn’t bring any cash on me!... Sir?” His respect is half-hearted. Natasha prays for him.

“Oh, oh! So we got a smart-ass here, do we? Oh, you and I are gonna be best friends, Boot! Get up!” When Edgar doesn’t immediately hop to his feet, the SNCO crouches down and booms in his loud voice, 

“ _GET UP THIS INSTANT, BOOT OR DO YOU WANT MY SIZE ELEVEN SHOES UP YOUR ASS?! DID YOU HEAR ME I SAID STAND UP AND GET YOUR ASS IN THE BOOT LINE!_ ” His voice, though in such a rush that Natasha doubts he even took a second breath, is clear enough to have Edgar scrambling to his feet and being forcibly backed into the boot line when the SNCO walks into him, pushing him back with his chest while still screaming at him to back up.

As soon as Edgar is in line, the SNCO returns back to his own row, pivoting around and staring Edgar down, “Permission to _personally_ train this recruit to be in top shape for Overwatch!” The SNCO yells.

There’s a tense moment of silence and sweat beads down Natasha’s neck, “Granted.” Comes Commander Morrison’s reply. 

“What?” Edgar only has a second before the SNCO- Natasha catches the name as he sprints by her- Washington, is spitting in his face.

“Who gave you permission to speak, _Boot?!_ ” He practically roars, “No one! If I hear another word out of your mouth that isn’t ‘Yes, Sir!’ I will personally drag you through the mud by your feet! Do you understand? Say ‘Yes, _**Sir!**_ ’.” 

“Yes, Sir!” Edgar squeaks out as quickly as possible.

“I did not hear you, say it louder!” Washington demands.

“Yes, Sir!” This time there’s a good bit of volume in his voice, but Washington demands him to be even louder, “Yes, Sir!” 

“Good! Does everyone else understand? Say, ‘Yes, Sir!’.” Washington casually walks in between the two lines of recruits as everyone shouts ‘Yes, Sir!’ as loudly as they can, “Louder!” As a group, they manage to get the volume that Washington demands, “Good! It will be our pleasure to mold you into the proud agents that you see out in the field protecting the world from future omnic attacks. We will teach you how to work as a team, how to depend on one another and trust one another to get the job done. We will teach you how to present yourself in public so that you will not be an embarrassment to yourselves _or_ to Overwatch. We will teach you the skills you need to defend yourself, your comrades, and the world. If this is what you signed up for say, ‘Yes, Sir!’.”

“Yes, Sir!” They parrot, their voices loud enough for Washington. 

“Alright, let’s move out! Single file lines. If I see _one_ toe out of line, there _will_ be consequences!” They’re rushed out of the docking bay, down white hallways and around a few corners. 

In fact, Natasha is absolutely certain that they’re being lead around in circles. The NCO’s bark at anyone who looks at the doors or windows they pass by. Natasha gets her fair share of screaming when her eyes wander. There’s a few swats to the back of the head when someone’s eyes wander a bit too much. It’s only when an agent – a _cadet_ , rather, as an NCO calls them – catches up to them with an armful of packets that they break off from the circle and are lead into a small room with simple desks that you’d find in most schools nailed to the floor in neat rows and are ordered to sit.

The cadet is nervous as they pass out exact stacks to each person sitting at the front of each row. As soon as they’re finished, they stand just to the left of Washington, back straight, head held high and a perfect salute waiting to be dismissed. Washington waits until everyone has a packet before dismissing the cadet, who pivots on their heel to leave. It’s rather impressive how tight and controlled their form was.

As soon as the cadet leaves the room, each NCO sprints to a row and begins screaming instructions on how to properly fill out the packet. The SNCO takes special attention to Edgar, barking at him to stand and sit back down whenever he fills in any piece of information. He’s not the only one being harassed, two of the NCO’s have sequestered the veterans to various tasks. Natasha is made to demonstrate twenty one-armed push-ups and then thirty standard push-ups when she cannot complete the first twenty. Some are made to do jumping-jacks, one unfortunate man is being berated for coming in with a beard, regardless to how well-groomed it appears to be.

“Pull it out!” The NCO yells at him, “Pull out that beard right now! I want that thing gone _before_ everyone in this room is finished with their packet!” The young man scrambles and grits his teeth as he begins pulling out the small hairs of his beard, “You think we’re gonna waste _our_ time and money cleaning that mess off your face?” 

“You heard the woman, finish your packets before the recruit pulls out his beard!” Another NCO shouts from across the room. 

The packets they’re expected to fill out contain several different waivers, emergency contact information, full name and contact information, three loyalty contracts, and four different non-disclosure agreements. There was also a required signature giving them permission for medical evaluations and an option to allow experimental treatments. 

Natasha catches that last bit and pauses, she’d already signed it out of habit. She’s mildly concerned about what she’d just accidentally agreed to, however, that was the last page of the packet and was quickly snatched off of her desk by a passing NCO who barks at her to jog in place until everyone else was done before she can think much else about it.

The NCO flips through the packet to make sure it was filled out properly, “Do you swear that everything you put in this packet, everything you signed, is the truth and nothing but the truth?” She yells at Natasha, shaking the packet in her face as she does so.

“Yes, Sir!” Natasha shouts and then immediately squeezes her eyes shut at her mistake.

“Sir? _Sir?!_ Do I look like a _Sir_ to you, Recruit?! Look at me when I’m speaking to you, Recruit!” The NCO screeches directly into Natasha’s ear.

“No, Ma’am!” Natasha replies and does as she’s told. The woman looks furious, but there’s amusement hiding in her eyes. It’s terrifying. 

“So I look like a woman, then do I?” The NCO demands.

“Yes, Ma’am!” 

“So you think I’m attractive?! You wanna fuck me, Recruit?!” Natasha almost chokes, and a blush spreads on her cheeks. She should have seen that coming.

“Ma’am, I regard you in a professional manner, Ma’am!” Natasha yells, almost desperately. 

She hears someone else let out a choke of laughter that was immediately attacked by another NCO.

“So you don’t think I’m pretty enough to fuck, then?!” Natasha swears that the woman is hysterical, but it’s all a part of the process, “Drop down and give me another twenty!”

“Yes, Ma’am!” Natasha swears loudly in her head as she drops, her arms already ache and protest from the previous round of push-ups. Back in the military, she’d kept up an intense workout regimen any time she could, wanting to be in top physical form. After she’d left at the end of her contract, depression had her slipping out of a normal workout routine until she stopped altogether. After a year with the agency, she’d picked up a light workout routine to get back into the swing of things, but she’d forgotten how hard they pushed you when you first joined the military. 

After five push-ups, the NCO is crouching down so that she could scream directly into Natasha’s ear, “Get back up! Show these scum a proper squat!” She ordered.

“Yes Ma’am!” With a grunt, Natasha jumps up and spreads her feet shoulder-length apart and then squats until the NCO is screaming at her to do jumping-jacks. 

And then sprint in place. And then burpees. Natasha isn’t given a chance to catch her breath and her muscles scream in protest, but she keeps going. Following any orders given to her as best as she can. She can feel Edgar’s eyes on her for only a moment, and then she hears the SNCO bark at him for not paying attention to him, something about wandering eyes. And then suddenly the NCO is yelling at her to stop so Natasha does, with panting breath. 

“Quit pulling your beard out! You look ridiculous!” Someone shouts, followed by a ‘Yes, Sir!’. 

 

They’re separated by gender as soon as the last recruit has finished the packet and then led off in separate directions.

“Follow me, ladies!” One of the female NCO barks, forcing them into a straight line. 

_HAYNES_ reads her name. She’s a short woman, probably only an inch or so over 5” with dirty-blonde hair shaped into a tight bun with lightly tanned skin. She has a hint of a French accent when she isn’t yelling, Natasha finds out when Haynes stops to speak with a cadet about whether ‘the room’ was ready or not. Natasha doesn’t hear the cadet’s response, but Haynes is satisfied with it, so she barks at them to keep moving.

They’re eventually led out of the building and across a long field where Haynes orders Natasha and Yadav to jog along either side of the line of recruits and make sure that they stay in formation. This involves a lot of screaming for both women when the younger recruits falter or move even slightly out of formation. Natasha would feel bad for them, but they signed up for this. That and Natasha enjoys it, especially when she knows that she’ll go through worse as soon as training starts.

There are ten other women, among them are only two vets, including Natasha. It’s a little sad compared to the five vets on the men’s side, but at least Natasha won’t be alone in her suffering. She wonders how Edgar will fair, hoping that the other veterans will at least find him useful and not ostracize him.

Across the open field with curving sidewalks that lead from one building to another, is a row of long buildings that look painfully familiar. Behind them is a much larger building, but it’s still dwarfed in size compared to the main building they’d left from. The buildings are steel-blue in colour, with the larger building being a more vibrant blue. Overwatch’s official colour.

Haynes takes them inside one of the long buildings marked 1F. The inside of the building almost seems hollow, if not for the line of bunk-beds, racks with equal spacing between them. There’s a foot locker at the foot of each bed, they’ll be expected to share them with their bunkmate. Natasha and Yadav are quickly directed to the first bunk on the right while Haynes snaps at the rest of the women to pick a ‘rack’. Haynes orders them to stand on either side of the racks and then walks up and down the narrow isle in between the rows of beds. 

“This is where you will sleep! You will sleep when I tell you and you will wake when I tell you! Do you understand?” Haynes shouted. 

“Yes, Ma’am!” 

“If I catch _anyone_ sleeping anywhere else but in their bed, or when I tell you all to be awake, there will be consequences!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this was as fun for you to read as it was for me to write :> and oh my gosh so much happened in this chapter :D And we're finally so close to the actual Overwatching part that I can practically taste it T_T


	5. Branch Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The following montage will not include inspiring music with questionable lyrics.

Integration training was like boot camp, but worse. So much worse. And because there was only one female NCO leading them, Haynes, some of the male NCO’s were aloud to help train Natasha and Yadav when Haynes was busy with the other female recruits. 

For the most part, Natasha and Yadav try to look out for the other recruits, acting quickly to correct their form or whispering pieces of advice late at night when they’re supposed to be sleeping. Natasha finds out that Yadav’s first name is Zahira and that she practices Hinduism. 

She also worked for the intelligence side of India’s military and was quite proficient with coding and hacking. It was amazing how quickly she could whip up a virus, and Haynes had given away the fact that Natasha had created her own virus, which drew Yadav to her with questions that Natasha struggled to answer. Yadav was endlessly patient with Natasha though, and understood how viruses worked much better than Natasha. Yadav was able to recreate a better version of Natasha’s virus that they displayed during a fighting simulation. 

As payment for teaching Natasha how to improve her skills as a hacker, Natasha teaches Yadav how to handle a sniper rifle. Yadav’s aim isn’t too bad, but it’s clear from the first shot that rifles are not where her strength lies. Still, Yadav takes any advice Natasha gives eagerly. They both practice spotting, something that Yadav admits she enjoys more than sniping.

“I think it could also give me time to make up a virus or hack into an omnic and turn the tide of the battle,” Yadav contemplates over their meal, which is protein and carbs in various forms of food that only sometimes has decent flavor. 

Her voice is rich and smooth with an Indian accent that often fills Natasha with a warm arousal. Natasha hasn’t commented on it yet, but with each passing day and the building stress from lack of sex makes Natasha wonder how Yadav would feel about a roll in the hay. She _would_ have just fucked Edgar by now, two weeks into training, but sneaking off for a quickie was difficult in the American military. Here? Impossible. Especially with SNCO Washington following Edgar around during their few hours of rest on Sundays. Edgar doesn’t seem to get a break from the intimidating man, but at the very least the other vets have his back when they can. That’s what she hears, anyway.

Edgar had taken a keen interest in Christianity, it seemed. While Natasha was there, simply to relax for a few hours before more training, Edgar appeared enraptured by the Chaplain. Washington always joins him for Mass, as well. Natasha believes that it was Washington who had gotten Edgar into the religion. Mass seemed to be the only time that Washington _didn’t_ look at Edgar like he was a stain on his perfectly shined boots.

“Well if you want to be my spotter, you’re going to have to learn how to breathe with me when you’re on top of me.” Natasha tells her, continuing their conversation. 

“That’s another thing!” Yadav points her plastic spork at Natasha with a suggestive eyebrow raised, “Do I really have to lay on top of you or are you just trying to get lucky with me?” Her smile is as teasing as her jab. A natural habit they picked up. 

“Well, generally I prefer being on top,” Natasha shrugs easily, enjoying the blush that spreads on Yadav’s cheeks, “But yes, it’s what I’m used to. It lets me know you’re still alive and looking out for me.” She explains.

They’ve traded their tragic stories in the dead of night. Natasha finds comfort in Yadav’s whispered condolences that somehow seem so much more genuine than those she’s received before. But Yadav has lost partners and comrades before. The older woman, older only by two years, Natasha thinks, has seen war as well.

Yadav hums around her spork before swallowing whatever she’d piled onto it, “Yeah, that does make sense.” She admitted. 

Over Yadav’s shoulder, Natasha spots Edgar giving her a longing look that only turns back to his food when Washington sits down across from him. She can’t help the sigh that she releases and scrubs a hand over her hair. And then she pats at it in a paranoid manner, making sure she didn’t mess her bun up. With all the hair-gel she packed onto it, it had better not move a centimeter out of place.

Natasha watches Yadav rake her eyes over her in a sultry manner and then wink, “You’re good.” She purrs, her voice dark and husky. 

Natasha’s mouth is suddenly very dry and she suspects no amount of water would change that. 

It isn’t really surprising then, when the moment they’re alone Natasha has Yadav underneath her panting breathlessly in her ear. She has a hand shoved hastily into Yadav’s briefs, her fingers thrusting into her tight cunt as quickly as Natasha can manage. Yadav’s hands are tied together with a sock, done in haste and a bit too loose, and Natasha keeps them above Yadav’s head with her other hand. Yadav mewls and whines under her, thrusting her hips in time with Natasha’s fingers. Natasha has to bite Yadav’s covered shoulder to stifle her own moans as she desperately rubs her own crotch against one of Yadav’s thighs, the friction doing absolutely wonderful things to her clit. With a few more thrusts, Yadav stiffens underneath her and her walls of her deliciously warm cunt clench around her fingers. Natasha unabashedly chases her own sweet relief against Yadav’s thigh as she works her through her orgasm. 

“You know I always thought I was straight.” Yadav says over lunch the next day. 

Natasha nods in understand, “I did, too. Until basic.” Lunch is the same, though they had pudding cups today. 

Apparently, it was someone’s birthday and everyone was allowed to celebrate. Natasha swallows as much as the pudding as she can without tasting it, though. It was too sweet and she’s not risking getting Yadav in trouble by handing it over. 

“Is that common in America?” Yadav tilts her head to the side, referring to their tryst the night before. 

“Kind of? As long as you never got caught you were fine.” Natasha replies with an easy shrug.

Yadav leans forward to whisper conspiratorially, “Did you ever get caught?” Natasha pauses her meal to wink, but says nothing, making Yadav draw out a long gasp as she straightened in her seat, “You know, the other Americans told me the devil would be attractive.” Yadav says sagely, drawing a snort out of Natasha.

“Well give me your soul, baby.” Natasha smirks.

They’re conversation is interrupted by the yelling of NCO’s, demanding one poor recruit to push their body well passed its limits, “Happy Birthday!” They would scream in the recruit’s ear whenever he completed a task. They worked him all around the chow-hall and out of it, and then one of the NCO’s yelled for a thermometer. 

“Poor guy,” Yadav frowned, “Is your birthday any time soon?” 

Natasha shook her head, “No, thankfully. My birthday passed a month ago. What about you?” 

“Ah! You’re so lucky! My birthday is in three weeks!” Yadav lamented.

 

 

Despite collapsing from heat exhaustion on her birthday, Yadav was very much interested in the present Natasha had for her. If her moans of encouragement were anything to go by. They’d managed to work in some alone time in the showers, not difficult when your NCO is off harassing someone who’d forgotten Overwatch’s Code of Honor. 

Natasha had her on her back on one of the benches, her stark-naked body still damp from the shower, the dark tendrils of her hair fanning out beneath her, her plump breasts rising and falling with her panting breath. Her hips rocked in a desperate rhythm as Natasha teased her tongue around Yadav’s clitoris, the little button of pleasure red and swollen, needy just like Yadav. Natasha supplied Yadav with slow and deep thrusts of her fingers, brushing lightly against the right spot that had Yadav whining, her feet struggling to gain some purchase against the bench to push her hips close to Natasha. 

“Quit teasing me!” Yadav mewled, one of her hands tangled itself into Natasha’s hair and pulled, eliciting a groan from Natasha. 

Natasha peered up at Yadav, raking her eyes over her body, beads of sweat mixing in with water and the light of the shower room giving her an almost heavenly glow. Her back arched beautifully when Natasha finally relented and sucked on that bead like her life depended on it. Her fingers expertly rubbed against Yadav’s sweet spot, listening to the delicious sound of her cries growing higher in pitch as she grew closer and closer to her orgasm. Natasha waiting until the right moment, and then stopped.

Yadav spat something that was definitely a curse, making Natasha chuckle against her inner thigh. And then Yadav starts threatening her in her native tongue and it’s the hottest thing Natasha’s ever heard. The hands in her hair pull unfairly, but the pain only heightens Natasha’s arousal. She closes her eyes as she hisses, her cunt throbbing with a need so strong she’s honestly surprised when she manages to keep herself from humping the bench. But today isn’t about her, so she opens her eyes in narrow slits and licks her lips at the sight of a frustrated Yadav. They don’t have much more time, Natasha realizes, so she dive back in with the same intensity she’d had before her abrupt stop. Yadav yelps in surprise, clapping a hand over her mouth a little too late, but she catches her cry of pleasure when Natasha sends her right over the edge and into that precious relief she begged for. 

Natasha continues to thrust her fingers into Yadav’s tight cunt and suck on her clit until Yadav is pulling her away by her hair, “ _Stopstopstopstopstop!_ ” She whines. 

Wiping her mouth off with the back of her hand, Natasha takes in Yadav’s post-orgasm panting. Yadav is a sight to behold with her golden-brown skin gleaming in the light, her eyes closed with a blissful expression. 

“What in the _hell_ is going on in here, Recruits?!” Hayne’s voice bounces against the walls with unbridled French rage and promise of pain and suffering. Natasha has never heard her French accent come out when she yelled…

_**Fuck.** _

 

 

“I knew it!” Haynes crowed, standing on Natasha’s back, acting as resistance, as Natasha struggled to do ‘simple’ push-ups, “I knew you were a lesbian! I bet you wanted to fuck me this whole time, didn’t you, Recruit?!” Haynes’s voice carries far and Natasha can see heads turn her way out of the corner of her eyes.

“Ma’am-“ Natasha wheezes out, sweat dripping down her nose as she eases herself down.

“Is dick not good enough for you, Recruit?!” One of the male NCO’s yells into Natasha’s ears. The sound bounced around in her head and made her vision swim for a moment.

“No, Sir-“ Natasha coughs out, her arms shaking as she pushes herself back up. It’s getting harder to breathe. 

Haynes finally steps off of Natasha just as she finishes raising herself back up, “Hold that position! You think pussy is sweet?!” 

Natasha grits her teeth and curls her lips in a silent snarl and draws in as much air as she can, “Sweeter than water, Ma’am!” Planking isn’t that bad. It’s certainly easier than the push-ups, but Natasha knows she’ll have to hold this position for far too long. There’s no point in denying it, Natasha thinks, she’s dug her own grave at this point. Denying it would only make it worse.

How long have they been torturing her? It’s been at least a week at this point, and Natasha can’t tell if her body is beginning to fail her or if she caught a bug. No matter what she does, she can’t seem to cool down. Natasha sees Yadav being ran across the field, stopping every few feet to do a variety of different exercises. Two NCO’s are constantly at her heels. 

“Where are your eyes wandering to?” The male NCO barks, “Get up! Do jumping-jacks!” 

Natasha hops up to her feet, nearly tripping as she does so, and gets through two jump-jacks before Haynes is yelling at her to do inchworms, and halfway through that she’s told to split jumps. Then she’s ran around the field, sprinting as hard as she can before she inevitably collapses. Natasha is vaguely aware of the distinct feeling of a thermometer being shoved up her ass, but her head is heavy and her mind is thick with heat. A heat that swallows her whole and leaves nothing but a black abyss. She wonders if anything stares back at her. 

 

 

“Her temperature still hasn’t gone down,” An unfamiliar voice coaxes Natasha to wakefulness, but she can’t bring herself to peel her eyes open. They feel so heavy. 

“We’ll have to move her,” Another voice murmurs, “She definitely caught the flu going around.” Their accent is thick, but pleasant. German, maybe?

Flu? There was a flu going around? Ah yes, that’s right. There is, two of the men were in the infirmary recovering.

“Mmmm, and the wrong strain, too. I still haven’t figured out a vaccine for it yet.” The accented voice sounds frustrated and worried, “If only she caught one of the other strains!”

“Don’t worry, Dr. Ziegler! If anyone can help her, it’s you!” An encouraging voice chirps.

_Ah, the famed Angela Ziegler will save me, how nice_ , Natasha thinks to herself.

The voices float far, far away from Natasha as she slips back into a warm slumber. She dreams of many things, some terrifying and others not so. She sees an omnic tearing her brother’s leg off before she wakes. 

“Ah, back with the living I see!” A slightly familiar voice calls from her side. 

Natasha blinks at the stark-white walls and the too-bright lights until they stop hurting her eyes. A medic with bright blonde hair and blue eyes, wearing a smart, white lab coat smiles at her. 

“Dr. Ziegler.” Natasha croaks. 

“Yes, it seems you were giving the doctors here a bit of a hard time, so they called me in to help.” Dr. Ziegler explains as she passes Natasha the glass of cool water that was sitting on the nightstand next to her bed. 

Even though she feels as though she’s dying of thirst, Natasha drinks the water slowly, earning a nod of approval from the doctor. 

“How long have I been out?” Natasha winces as she hands Dr. Ziegler the now empty glass back with a shaking hand. She feels so weak. 

“Only a few days. They had you moved along with the others who caught the same strain over to my building. They thought you might have died,” Natasha blanches at that, making Dr. Ziegler laugh. It was a nice laugh, “Oh, I’m sorry! You didn’t, but we saw some interesting behavior from your cells. From what I’ve seen the strain of flu that you caught should have kept you in an unconscious state for a few more days,” Dr. Ziegler looks at her with the kind of curiosity one would give a puzzle, “How are you feeling?” She asks after a pause. 

Natasha blinks at the question, trying to wrap her mind around not dying and being awake. Dr. Ziegler clicks her tongue and mutters something in German. 

“Alright,” She bends down to be eye-level with Natasha and holds out a finger, “Follow my finger as best you can.” She waves her finger to the right and left slowly. 

The doctor seems satisfied with Natasha’s performance, but she pulls out a tiny light and shines it into Natasha’s eyes. As much as it makes Natasha want to close her eyes, she powers through it, blinking in relief when Dr. Ziegler takes the light away. 

“Alright, lean forward for me.” Dr. Ziegler takes the stethoscope that was wrapped around her neck and presses the cold metal to Natasha’s back, making her hiss at the sudden contact, “Take a deep breath in… And release it slowly…” The cold metal, now just a hair warmer, moves to another spot on her back, “And again…” When inhaling a second time, Natasha stutters and coughs, “That’s quite alright, please try again.” Dr. Ziegler pats her shoulder gently. Her hand felt cool. 

The same process is repeated with the stethoscope on Natasha’s chest when her eyes started watering, “Go ahead and lie back down.” Dr. Ziegler helped her and then handed her a tissue from the nightstand. 

“Thank you,” Natasha took a good long look at the nightstand, making sure that she wasn’t missing any other treasures it might be hiding from her. She wipes her eyes and blows her nose, tossing the tissue into the trash can on the other side of her bed and then heaves a sigh.

Dr. Ziegler purses her lips and lookes concerned, humming to herself as she plucks the clipboard that hangs on the end of Natasha’s bed and makes a few notes on it, “We took a few blood samples for testing, but I hope you don’t mind that we used a little to help synthesize a vaccine that will work with the strain you caught?” 

Natasha shook her head at that and then groaned as the world took a slow spin, “Pretty sure I signed a waiver…” She mutters to herself. “How long am I gonna feel like garbage, Doc?”

“With how quickly you’re recovering? I’d say you’ll be back out training by the beginning of next week!” Somehow that wasn’t comforting, even with Dr. Ziegler’s bright and encouraging smile.

The next few days are fluids and questions and more fluids. Most of the questions are centered around what she was doing and eating the days leading up to her first symptoms and then her collapse. The food she ate is quickly ruled out as a possible factor for the quick recovery, as she ate what the others who’d suffered the flu had eaten. The intensified training (see punishment) was the most popular possibility, though the sexual activity with Yadav seemed to be the most amusing.

“Somehow, I doubt that was a factor,” Dr. Ziegler dismisses the idea with a smile and a shake of her head, “I think this would be a strictly genetic factor, with all the evidence we’ve collected. I’ll have to consult with another doctor, but I’ll get back to you on those results.” She promises the day that Natasha is deemed healthy and ready to return to the field. 

Haynes collects her from her room around three in the morning, before the sun has had a chance to rise, and cheerfully informs her that she’s going to have to extend her training, “Two more weeks, Recruit! Aren’t you so happy?” She didn’t yell nearly as loudly here.

Natasha suspects that Dr. Ziegler would have torn Haynes’s ear off for disturbing the other patients. Which was odd, but the good doctor had no military experience. She was a prodigy in her field, though, which was probably why she was so well respected here. Dr. Ziegler was also much nicer than any of the military doctor’s Natasha had dealt with before, which was a blessing. However, by the way Haynes was grinning at her, much like the devil himself, Natasha knew she would have rather had someone barking at her while she was sick and miserable.

As punishment for taking a week to recover, Haynes takes everyone in her troop on a long hike through the woods near the base. They’re forced to wear most of their gear and carry heavy packs filled with anything they might need on the hike. Yadav is kept at the rear of the pack while Natasha is up from with Haynes when she’s suddenly passed a football. 

Two blinks and the blood drains from her face before she tosses the ball up in the air and breaks into a light jog, gritting her teeth when Haynes yells at her to ‘pick it up!’. The ball gets to the end of the line and then Yadav sprints up to lead and the process begins anew. The ball gets dropped a few times, during which Haynes has them do squats and lunges with the packs until she retrieves the ball and tosses it to whoever is first in line. When Haynes finally stops them, it’s in a clearing and she barks at them to take a five-minute rest.

The rest of the hike was even more grueling and go back down the terribly large hill was somehow even worse. By the time they made it back to their beds, they had maybe two hours before they were expected to rise. 

 

 

After a month of being ground into dirt and nearly going deaf from having her ears screamed off, someone finally fucked up enough to take the heat off of both her and Yadav. The details hadn’t yet reached Natasha, but it was something about contraband being snuck onto base. Not being woken up two hours before everyone else was the first clue, and then seeing one of the other females running with their foot locker back and forth across the field was her second clue. Really it was the only clue she needed, and it was a heavenly sight. Her sore muscles thanked that stupid idiot.

To be on the safer side of things, Yadav and Natasha kept a professional distance between each other, save for during live-fire exercises when Yadav played spotter to Natasha’s sniper. Though, there were times when Natasha had to coach one of the other females on how to properly use a sniper, acting as their spotter. That usually involved a lot of yelling when they took the shot before Natasha gave the clear. As long as Natasha immediately began berating them for their stupid decision, Haynes wouldn’t tear her ass a new one as badly as she would the younger recruits. She still suffered for their mistakes, though. At least when Yadav was showing her how to improve a virus or a code, mistakes were easily avoided so there was less yelling and disapproving glares. 

And then Yadav and the other lucky veterans who hadn’t gotten sick were graduating. Time had passed so quickly, and Natasha was proud of them right up until Haynes gave her that _grin_. It was then that Natasha realized that she would have two weeks where it was just her and the boots. And Haynes was going to make her suffer so horribly for it.

Every. Single. Mistake. Every single mistake that those damned boots made, Natasha was made to pay. If she wasn’t running laps, cycling through vicious exercises, or cleaning the latrines, Natasha was tearing some stupid reruit a new asshole for making a mistake. And boy, did they fuck up a lot. So much so that Natasha wouldn’t be surprised if they were doing it on purpose. 

By the end of her first week being the only female vet, Natasha had gone numb to the outside world. Nothing really mattered except survival and keeping those fucking recruits in line. 

But then she caught Edgar gawking at her with a look of utter horror on his face. Her eyes narrow at him, not really seeing him as Edgar, but rather another recruit who was about to fuck up. Edgar lives up to her expectations, his look of horror turning to one of angry concern as that mother fucker breaks formation. 

Natasha rushes up to him without thinking, barking at him to get back in line, “Who the hell gave you permission to break formation, Recruit?! Get the hell back in line before I make you get back in line!” She yells, catching him off guard long enough to have him stumble back.

She hears someone laugh and rounds on them only to stop as soon as she realizes it was Haynes. Quickly, she straightens her posture and salutes the woman, but that doesn’t save her from her punishment; sprinting uphill with her foot-locker while two male NCO’s charge after her, threatening a never-ending pain for fraternizing with a male recruit. Natasha has no idea what they did to Edgar, but he didn’t even glance in her direction after that. Which was good and fills Natasha with relief, something she didn’t know she could feel any more of.

Somehow, by some miracle, Natasha survives long enough to graduate. A long, drawn out ceremony that passes by in a blur of cheers, marching, saluting and struggling not to sway too much when they had to stand still. 

She, along with the male vets, including Edgar, are allowed one day to rest at the main building before they were given their assignments. It was the first time in so long that Natasha had a room to herself. She actually had trouble sleeping. If she wasn’t tossing and turning, she was struggling with a nightmare she couldn’t remember. Finally, Natasha woke in a cold sweat just seconds before an alarm blared in the room. It was an automated alarm, Natasha has to remind herself to keep from panicking, to make sure she was awake and getting up to go to her assigned meeting room where she would get her first official assignment as an Overwatch Cadet. 

Wasting no time, Natasha practically flies out of bed, grabbing her bag of toiletries and sprinting to the communal bathroom. The shower was a quick scrub and rinse in cold water, her teeth quickly brushed, deodorant applied, and hair pulled back and gelled down. She walks a brisk pace to the room number she memorized, reaching the room just as the others are. 

Here, Edgar freely eyes her critically, a concerned frown drawing at his lips. He doesn’t say anything, simply gesturing for her to enter the room first. Natasha gives him a nod, she’d smile at him, but she just doesn’t have the energy for it.

Inside the room, the walls are a light, cream colour and decorated with a few landscape paintings of the base. There’s a large, brown, oval table with black chairs that look plush and comfortable. At the head of the table stands Captain Ana Amari, in front of her on the table is a small computer, no doubt hooked up to the hologram display at the center. 

“Good morning,” She greets them, “Please take a seat, there are plenty here. And congratulations on graduating.” Captain Amari graces them with a small smile that’s filled with a mother’s quiet pride.

There’s a quiet murmur of ‘Thank you, Ma’am’s as everyone gets seated. Out of habit, the males stick to one side of the table as much as they can while Natasha sits alone on the other side. Captain Amari looks at them, her smile turning amused. She’s probably used to this.

“I’m sure you all are very excited to have your first assignments, but I can assure you that during your preliminary period things will be quite boring. You can relax and rest assured that your experiences during training will not be the same as your experience as a Cadet or Agent. We will expect the very best behavior out of you, but life won’t be quite as harsh…” She pauses as she considers something, “Depending on where you are stationed, of course.” 

There’s a moment of unease that spreads through the room, and then a knock at the door that startles everyone but Captain Amari. 

“Come in.” She commands in a voice full of authority. 

In strides two women and two men, dressed similarly to Captain Amari. They stand to her left with their hands clasped behind their backs and eyes that take them all in with a critical view.

“These will be your Captains. You will be assigned to one of their teams based on the skills and promise you displayed during your training. You will leave with them immediately to your assigned Watchpoint where your belongings will be returned to you. In the event that you had brought personal weaponry with you, your Captains will show you where you are allowed to keep them. Some items may be kept in your own personal room or a shared room. Other items will need to be kept in the armory.” 

Captain Amari’s gaze lingered on Natasha and Edgar a little longer than the others as she waited for the news to sink in, she then nodded in approval and gestured to the other Captains.

The first male took a step forward, “My name is Captain Patel,” He says with a thick accent. 

His skin is dark brown, his hair and eyes black, and he has a scar that runs from the very right side of his cheek down into his shirt. On the left side of his jaw is a burn that twists the corner of his lip upwards, making a permanent smirk on his resting face.

He barks out three names, and the owners of those names hop up to salute him. Captain Patel looks them over in approval, “Follow me!” And out of the room they go. 

The next Captain, Rivera, does the same and then the third Captain, Captain Orswell, calls Natasha, Edgar, and a man by the name of Era. 

Captain Orswell’s skin is lightly tanned, and his accent is distinctly Australian. His hair is auburn with grey streaks and his eyes are a steely gray that carries years of experience. He has no visible scars, but Natasha doubts he’s free of any.

His glare is not one of approval, but a resigned content, “You’ll do. Follow me.” His voice is quiet and reserved, “Thank fucking god they didn’t give me any more greens.” He mutters to himself as he leads them out of the meeting room.

Captain Orswell marches them around the entire building, out of the building, passed the docking bay, and then back into the building where he leads them to an open room with familiar bunk beds.

“Here is where you will sleep. You three will be joining my team, completing the full eight-person Cadet teams that are required of Overwatch. For the first six months of your year-long preliminary period, we will run simulations with mixed teams until we figure out who plays better with who. If any other mixed teams can be improved, we will do so in those first six months to the best of our abilities. After that, we will begin running live missions which can range from a simple escort mission to the subtleties of espionage.” Captain Orswell explains and then gestures to the beds which are labeled with their names. 

“Thought espionage was Blackwatch’s game.” Era mutters as he finds his bed. 

“Blackwatch?” Edgar turns towards Era who ignores him, and then looks at Natasha, who shrugs. Blackwatch hadn’t been mentioned in any of the paperwork. He then looks to Captain Orswell for an explanation. 

The Captain gives a little smirk and pivots on his heel, walking out of the room, “This way, Cadets!” He shouts.

When they march behind him in a single-file line, he tosses them an annoyed look, but doesn’t say anything. They’re lead to a locker room with a large metal door that leads to **TRAINING AREA 5B** , according to the red text above it. There’s also a smaller door with a shower decal in white on it to the very right of the room, and then a door with a toilet decal next to it. 

“This is where any weaponry you brought with you will be kept along with any armor and training fatigues allotted to you. As you saw in the barracks, you get your very own foot-locker to which stores your uniforms, fatigues, and things you brought with you that were otherwise confiscated. If anything is missing, come to me and we’ll fill out a report. Either you’ll get it in a package later or you’ll be reimbursed for the estimated value of the lost object.” It’s a bit strange that everything seems to be co-ed, but maybe that’s just for the Cadets or just an Overwatch thing?

Again, their lockers are labeled with their last names, and Natasha spots Yadav printed onto one of the lockers. She barely manages to suppress a smile at that and then Edgar pokes into her side with a cheesy smile when their lockers are only a few spaces away. 

Captain Orswell gives them a moment to check their lockers before drawing their attention with a sharp whistle, “Let’s meet the rest of the team and then we’ll break for lunch.” 

He leads them right into Training Area 5B, the doors sliding open with a quiet hiss and closing much the same. Inside the room is impressively large with an obstacle course shaped almost like a city taking up most of the space with some walls reaching the ceiling. The entire thing looks as though you could take it a part and rearrange it, a closer look reveals slits in the floors and walls, making Natasha think some of the obstacles might be automated. 

Across the room is a small door that leads to a shooting range and a wide glass window that shows off most of the range. Along the walls are benches where the rest of the team, five individuals in their Overwatch training fatigues, are loitering. Natasha recognizes three of them from training, Yadav among them. The other two look to be the ‘greens’ Captain Orswell had complained about. They looked too bright-eyed and young, eager to prove their worth.

Captain Orswell whistles again, but the sound is shorter and higher pitched, somehow carrying _meaning_ behind it. The result is instantaneous; the Cadets loitering at the benches snap to attention, lining up side-by-side with stiff postures and chins held high.   
Captain Orswell hums in approval, “Thompson, Chang! Good forms. Team, good job for whipping Thompson and Chang into form.”

“Thank you, Sir!” They reply as one, Thompson and Chang looking especially pleased.

“I’d like you to meet the final three members of our team,” Captain Orswell turns to the side and gestures at Natasha, Edgar and Era. They had mimicked the team’s pose, “We have Natasha Blakhart, Edgar Belikov, and Jon Era. Introduce yourselves!” He barks.

One by one, they step forward to introduce themselves, but all Natasha can hear is ‘Cadet!’ beyond a rushing in her ears. She blinks twice, the temptation to shake her head strong, but she resists. And then Captain Orswell is giving her the stink eye, or maybe not just her, but Edgar and Era as well. Just as he’s about to bark orders at them, there’s a light _‘ding’_ and the doors slide back open. 

Captain Orswell glares behind them, “Ah, Doctor Nashton. What can I do for you?” His back is straight, chest puffed out with pride and his voice is muffled, but getting clearer. 

“Captain Orswell, Sir,” Doctor Nashton speaks with a voice bordering on loathing, “I told you that I needed to run a physical on your three new Cadets before they officially joined the team…” There’s a pause as Captain Orswell spreads his hands out in a confused gesture, “Which means _now_ , Captain.” 

Like many doctor’s that Natasha has met, this man’s voice leaves no room for argument and unlike the good Doctor Ziegler, Doctor Nashton does not sound merciful. Captain Orswell rolls his eyes and looks over the three of them once again.

“Alright, dismissed! Come back here when you’re done.” He pivots on his heel to face the rest of the team, “Don’t you lollygaggers think that means you get a free day! I want you running laps until they’re done! Go! Go! Go!” He barks as he chasses them out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, finally playing with that f/f... *cough* there will be more, but much later I promise. AND WE FINALLY GOT TO OVERWATCH OH MY GOD YAY???!! Buckle-up kiddos, the ride begins. Also I just want to point out that I have no military background myself, but I have a few close friends that are more than happy to supply answers for me. And give me a lecture when I get things wrong.


	6. Teamwork Makes the Dreamwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit with a doctor, bonding with the team and their first failure as a team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look... I know I'm super late, but anxiety is a bitch and let's all just be happy that depression didn't join the party too. Don't worry, you'll get an extra chapter before the week ends because I feel guilty. And by 'I feel guilty', I mean my BETA READER is threatening me. So there.

Doctor Nashton isn’t too bad, certainly not the kind of doctor you’d get at boot camp. However, he has no room for humor. Or at least, that’s what Edgar says with a roll of his eyes when he’s been cleared with a clean bill of health. 

“I didn’t even get a lollipop.” He groans, slumping forward just a fraction before he’s straightening in his seat beside her.

“Sweets will rot your teeth.” Natasha mutters back to him. 

The waiting room seems pretty standard, just dipped in Overwatch Blue. The chairs are all metal squares with rounded corners and soft faux-leather cushioning. There’s a few black end-tables piled with magazines and tissue-boxes. Typical plexiglass windows to the office workers who dictate who will and won’t see a doctor and when, should they not already have an appointment. There’s a constant chatter behind the plexiglass, but it’s quiet enough to not be disturbing.

“Your turn, Blakhart.” Era calls out as he strolls out of the door leading to the many rooms that the doctor’s used. 

Behind him Doctor Nashton is writing something on a clipboard, his foot keeping the door open. The doctor glances up from the clipboard long enough to ensure that Natasha has passed the threshold and then leads Natasha to a small room just three doors down. 

“Hop on the scale, Cadet.” He tells her, placing the clipboard down and picking up another. 

He flips through the papers there, humming to himself, his eyes flickering up to the scale and jots down Natasha’s weight. 

“Take a seat,” Doctor Nashton grabs a scanner and places it on Natasha’s temple when she’s made herself comfortable on the paper sheets, “I see you are still suffering from the flu. Have you had any dizzy spells? Shortness of breath? Nausea or vomiting?” 

Natasha shakes her head and then quickly latches onto the bed as the world takes a spin around her, “Dizzy,” She groans. 

Doctor Nashton is quick to grab onto her shoulders and keep her from slipping off the bed and then helps her lie back onto the bed.

“This happens _every_ time.” Doctor Nashton bites in a whisper to himself, “Who cleared you?”

“Dr. Ziegler.” Natasha can’t help the anxiety that builds, had the good doctor lied? 

Doctor Nasthon picks the clipboard back up, mumbling to himself as he flips through the papers, finally landing on whatever he was looking for and seems agitated.

“I see.” He sighs.

“What is it?” Natasha gets halfway back into a sitting position when the Doctor is pushing her back down.

“You need to rest.” He turns back to the clipboard, “I see that your generous donation allowed Dr. Ziegler what she needed to synthesize a proper vaccine. Did she go over any of that with you?” 

“Yeah? She said something about my cells working overtime, I think.” Natasha glares at the wall as she struggles to remember what exactly Dr. Ziegler had said, “She told me she had to speak with another doctor about it and that she’d get back to me.” She continues with a shrug.

Doctor Nashton purses his lips and his eyes return to the clipboard, flipping another page. His brows draw together and one side of his lip pulls down.

“She didn’t get back to you.” Natasha shakes her head slowly this time, “Right. Okay then,” Doctor Nashton writes something down, the scratching of his pen against the paper irritating Natasha’s ears.

“Is everything okay?” Natasha asks hesitantly. 

“No. Well, yes. Everything is fine, I’m just being kept out of the loop like normal.” Doctor Nashton seems particularly peeved at this as he tears off a small rectangle of paper and hands it to Natasha, “I’m prescribing you anti-biotics to get you through the rest of your recovery. If your symptoms worsen, see me immediately. I also suggest bedrest as it is important for your body during this recovery period. _However_ ,” He turns the clipboard so that Natasha can see it, “You have been cleared to continue your training. It seems the doctor that Dr. Ziegler referred to believes that you’ll be able to work the flu out of your system.” Just as he says, there’s a scrawl of almost illegible handwriting approving her continued training.

Natasha is shooed out of the room, Doctor Nashton telling her to see one of the attendants behind the desk to receive her anti-biotics. Edgar is out of his seat immediately, following her over to the plexiglass window as Natasha hands over the prescription paper.

“Everything okay?” He asks when the woman leaves to retrieve the medicine.

Natasha sighs and rubs her forehead, contemplating lying, “Yeah, just gotta burn the flu out of my system. Doc is giving me meds to help.” She opts for the truth. 

“So, that means bedrest… Not the rigorous activity that we’re about to be subjected to.” Edgar says.

Natasha grits her teeth at that and turns her head to glare at Edgar, “My training was pushed back two weeks because of this stupid flu. I am _not_ falling behind again.” She hisses, “I’ll take the medicine and work it out.”

Edgar looks like he’s ready to argue with her, but then the woman returns with a small white bag, “Your prescription, Ma’am. The directions on when to take it and how are on the bottle. Please come back immediately if any of your symptoms worsen.” 

Natasha thanks the woman and turns to leave with Edgar and Era in tow. Era is less inclined to bother Natasha about her decision, but Edgar refuses to let it be. 

“Natasha you look like you’re about to collapse at any moment, I really think you should rest.” Edgar presses, drawing closer to Natasha and lowering his voice.

Era legs behind them to give them a bit of space with a knowing frown. 

“Just drop it, Edgar. I’ll be fine.” Natasha replies, marching ahead. She remembers the way back to the training room, where Captain Orswell was waiting.

Edgar grabs her arm, meaning to stop her, “No, you won’t-“ And is then summarily flipped onto his stomach with his arm twisted behind his back, Natasha’s grip painfully tight and her breath pushing out of her nose in harsh pants. 

Era raises his hands in defense when Natasha glares at him, “You got no trouble from me, Blakhart.” 

“I’ll be fine.” Natasha snarls as she pushes herself away from Edgar, her eyes flickering from Edgar to Era to a tall woman in a lab coat at the door to the doctor’s office. 

The woman’s expression is one of curiosity and amusement, “Everything alright down there?” She calls to them with an Irish lilt.

The woman’s eyes draw Natasha in, one a deep blue and the other a shocking red, a several shades darker than her hair. Edgar pulls himself to his feet and rubs his arm, staring at Natasha with a look of mild horror. 

“We’re fine. Thanks for asking, Doc.” Era calls back to her. 

Before Edgar can argue, Era is slinging an arm over his shoulder and hauling him down to Era’s height, “Walk, Belikov.” And then leans in to whisper something to Edgar that Natasha can’t quite hear.

Edgar shakes him off, but continues forward, marching with a heavy frown. Natasha thinks about apologizing, but she was getting a little tired of Edgar’s recent behavior. Was he always so… Clingy? It was hard to tell when they’re lifestyle kept them so close, but now that there’s space between them… 

They get back to the locker room shortly after where the other Cadets are sprawled around, panting and occasionally drinking out of plastic water bottles with Overwatch’s logo printed on them. Captain Orswell has a small pair of reading glasses on, a small book in his hands. He glances up at them and gives that sharp whistle from before, in the training room. Era and Natasha are quick to the draw, standing at attention side-by-side. Edgar hesitates for only a moment before he copies them.

“Hmm, quick learners. I like it. Good form, Cadets.” He compliments, and then his eyes fall on the white bag in Natasha’s hands and his impressed expression melts into utter disgust, “What’s that, Cadet Blakhart?” He rolls his eyes.

“Anti-biotics for the flu, Captain!” Natasha replies. 

Captain Orswell pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a disgruntled sigh, “And I suppose that means bedrest?” 

“No, Captain. This Cadet has been approved to continue training!” Natasha straightens her back when she realizes she was beginning to slouch. 

“Oh,” The Captain’s eyebrows raise in surprise, “Well then, when are you supposed to take those?” 

Natasha falters for a moment before opening the bag and peering at the label on the little orange bottle, “Twice a day with food for one week. Once a day with food for another week, Captain.”

“Best keep it in your locker here then, Blakhart. And we’re just in time for breakfast!” Captain Orswell stands and claps his hands together with a smile.

The team behind him hop to their feet obediently and Thompson chirps, “I thought we were having lunch, Captain?”   
Captain Orswell turns around, “And what time is it now, Thompson?”

Thompson’s eyes scan the room quickly, landing on the clock before he replies in an uncertain voice, “Uhm, 1000 hours? Captain?” 

The Captains nostrils flare, “I’m the one asking questions, Cadet.” His own voice drops down low and quiets. 

That has Thompson snapping out of his uncertainty, “The time is currently 1005, Captain!” 

“Good! That means breakfast!” Another whistle and Natasha, Edgar and Era are scrambling to fall in line behind the others. 

Captain Orswell takes the bag from Natasha and opens the bottle, tapping out two pills onto her hand before sealing the bottle and leaving it in her locker, “I’m the only one among our team who can open everyone’s lockers. No need to worry about losing anything.” He tells them.

“Eventually,” He continues as he marches them out of the locker room, “Everyone will be able to open anyone’s locker. That’s where I aim us to be. A real _team_. And a team should be able to trust one another. I’ll beat that into your heads until it’s an easy to digest mush.” 

As they near the cafeteria, a large and open room with rows of tables and a long line of various food items with men and women serving Overwatch personnel, Captain Orswell quiets his voice.

“At ease, Team. Cadet Blakhart, I want to see you take those pills. There will be no collapsing on my watch, understand?” Captain Orswells asks.

“Yes, Captain.” Natasha replies.

“Good, now get the hell away from me and let a man eat in peace!” He waves them off without raising his voice and wanders over to grab food for himself. 

Most of what they’re serving is hot breakfast items like pancakes, eggs, or oatmeal, but there are also small pastries and cakes, a few soups as well. There’s plenty of bread and rice and all the condiments anyone could desire for their breakfast meals. Yadav grabs a hold of Natasha’s arm and leads her towards one of the more vacant counters.

“I can’t believe we got on the same team!” Yadav whispers excitedly to Natasha when she lets her go, “And don’t worry about Captain Orswell, he likes to take breakfast for himself and as long as we keep quiet and act appropriately he leaves us alone. But, that’s the _only_ time we get to relax unless we’re waiting in the locker room.” She explains as she’s handed a plate with porridge, flatbread, rice cakes and a few other things in metal bowls that Natasha can’t recognize. 

“What are we having?” Edgar asks, bumping Natasha’s shoulder to grab her attention. 

Natasha flinches away from him with a glare and grabs a plate from the woman working the counter, “Smells like Indian.” She grumbles.

Begrudgingly, Natasha waits for Edgar and then joins an expectant Yadav at one of the tables closer to the windows that take over a wall. Outside there’s more seating in a park-like setting and the sun is shining brightly. The windows are lightly tinted, keeping the snow reflecting the sun from being blinding. 

Natasha blinks, staring out of the window. She hadn’t realized that it snowed. 

“This where the cool kids sit?” Era asks as he plops down beside Edgar. His own plate is filled with scrambled eggs, bacon, pancakes and a banana. 

“Only the coolest.” Yadav replies with a smirk. 

Thompson and Chang join them as well, taking the remaining seats at the table. Thompson sits next to Natasha and Chang takes the seat in-between Thompson and Era. 

“Hi,” Chang smiles brightly at everyone and earns a chorus of greetings. 

“So, we heard that you two,” Thompson points to Natasha and Edgar, “Were assassins.” His eyes sparkle with untampered interest as he leans over his plate and whispers conspiratorially.

Natasha scoops a spoonful of porridge into her mouth and shrugs, Edgar nods with a frown, “What of it?” 

“What was it like?” Chang asks, not quite leaning so forward as Thompson to get her answer.

“Saw a lot of heads explode. Pretty messy.” Natasha replies, “Saw a lot of omnics go down in their… mechanical way. The more human looking ones are creepy, even when you destroy them.” She pulls the two pills she stowed in her pocket and downs the pills in a dry swallow. 

“You mean when they die?” Thompson tilts his head to the side like a puppy and Natasha raises a brow at him.

“Natasha is one of those omnic haters,” Edgar interjects before Natasha can reply, “It’s pretty useless to try and talk her out of it.”   
Natasha frowns at him for that, but then Chang has another question, “Do either of you have military background?” 

“Natasha does, I don’t.” Edgar answers and Natasha is happy to let him take over talking so that she can eat.

“Oh, what did you do?” Chang turns to Natasha, quickly adding, “If you don’t mind me asking!” 

Natasha swallows another spoonful of porridge, “I was a sniper. With my brother. He’s no longer with us.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss.” Chang sounds genuine and the rest of the table parrot some apology while Natasha brushes their apologies off.

“Was it the omnics? That’s how I lost my parents.” Thompson’s voice is quiet, vulnerable with grief and when Natasha looks at him his eyes are wet with unshed tears. 

She gives a slow nod of affirmation and places a comforting hand on his shoulder, “The pain never goes away, but it gets easier to handle.” Thompson covers her hand with his own and nods quickly, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. 

“Talking about it helps,” Yadav gives him a small smile.

“And remembering the good times! You should always cherish your memories of them.” Chang places a hand on his arm and gives it a gentle squeeze, “I lost my sister. Not to omnics, but to cancer.” Her smile wavers for a moment. 

Era clears his throat loudly enough to draw the attention of the table, “Let’s save the waterworks for a more private time.” He inclines his head to another table where there are a few giving them questionable looks. 

Thompson takes in a deep breath and wipes his eyes again, “Sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize,” Edgar tells him, frowning at Era, “It’s okay to grieve.” Era frowns back at him, pointedly shoveling his eggs into his mouth. 

“What’s with those two,” Natasha draws their attention to remaining two members of their team, eating at a table not too far from theirs.

“Vega and Vern?” Yadav twists in her seat to see them, “I think they take after Captain Orswell.” 

“Yeah, for the mornings. During lunch and dinner they remember how to be human and communicate.” Thompson explains further.  
“They sound more like teacher’s pets to me.” Era grumbles to his food.

“Hey, now, there is no need to be rude. They are a part of our team! They are just not morning people.” Change puffs out her cheeks at the older man who rolls his eyes. 

 

 

After breakfast, Captain Orswell marches them back to the training room where he has them run through an intricate obstacle course. To get through it they have to help one another over come heights, solve simple puzzles, and push each other to get to the end before the timer runs out. Captain Orswell doesn’t let them know how much time they have, and refuses to let any buzzer or alarm sound when the time limit ends.

“In a real-life scenario, you’d get _no_ warning!” He barks at them just before they start. 

Throughout the obstacle, Edgar doesn’t leave Natasha’s side and always makes sure that he’s there to help her. On one hand, it’s incredibly irritating and demeaning; Natasha knows he’s only doing it because she’s sick. On the other hand? It’s comforting to slip back into old habits. However, there’s the glaring issue of needing to keep the rest of the team in mind, which Edgar does if he gets too far ahead of her, but Natasha struggles with keeping herself from relying too much on him. They work well as a team, perhaps a little _too_ well and Natasha can feel the Captain’s eyes judging their performance. 

So when Natasha sees Thompson lagging behind, hesitating at a highwall, Natasha get’s in position to throw him up. She squats against the wall and cups her hands over a knee.

“Come Thompson, move! I’ll get you!” She tells him, frowning at the hesitance in his eyes. 

He frowns back, eyes darting from her hands to the edge where Edgar is waiting impatiently. Thompson finds his courage only a second later, breaking into a sprint and though his aim is a little off, Natasha adjusts to cup his foot and grunts at the effort of giving his jump extra height. Edgar holds him at the ledge, allowing Thompson to dangle a foot for Natasha to grab onto when she runs and jumps. Their timing is perfect with Edgar pulling Thompson up and over the edge, Thompson pulling his leg higher so that Natasha can grab onto the ledge and pull herself over right after Thompson is up.

It’s the last obstacle and the trio sprint past the red line with black, bolded lettering saying ‘ **FINISH** ’. The team exchanges a few pats on the back when Captain Orswell whistles to get their attention. In his hand he holds up a stopwatch that’s lit in red.

“You all died before anyone crossed the finish line. Congratulations.” He growls, “Get your asses down here!” 

Captain Orswell has them lined up just before the entrance to the obstacle course, pacing up and down the row, “Does anyone want to tell me where you all failed?” 

They hesitate, but Vega is the one to answer, “Because we didn’t trust each other, Sir.” Her voice is low and filled with disappointment and regret.

“Because you didn’t trust each other. But some of you have trust in one another. Blakhart, Belikov. You two trust each other and given your history together that isn’t surprising. Who can tell me where they went wrong?” Captain Orswell stops in front of Blakhart.

“I can, Sir.” Blakhart says.

Captain Orswell nods for her to continue.

“I relied too much on Cadet Belikov and didn’t look out for my team enough, Sir.” Natasha admitted, staring at the wall and resisting the urge to clench her fists. 

“Good. That’s exactly right, but I saw how you helped Thompson at the last obstacle. Clearly, you have ability to look for your teammates. I suggest you exercise that a bit more.” As he speaks, Natasha feels more like a scolded child than a Cadet in Overwatch.

Still, she grits her teeth and barks out a ‘Yes, Sir.’. 

“Where else did you go wrong, Cadets?” Captain Orswell shouts as he resumes his pacing. 

“Cadet Vega and I charged ahead most of the time and did not stop to check on the rest of our team. This reflected poorly on our abilities as leaders.” Vern explains, “Sir.” He adds after a moment where Captain Orswell stares blankly at him. 

“It also showed a distinct lack of respect, Cadet!” Captain Orswell shouts, stomping up to Vern, “If you want to be a damned leader so badly, you need to learn some damned respect. Run the obstacle course while the rest of us continue discussing where we went wrong and how to correct it! Go!” Vern’s glare is harsh, but he turns and begins to run through the obstacle course without having to be told twice.

It’s impossible to complete the course without someone else helping you. Vega looks like she wants to join him, but she purses her lips and stares ahead. And besides, Natasha knows that won’t be the end of Vern’s punishment. It’s a wonder how he managed to get so far with an attitude like that.

“What else went wrong in this disgrace of a team building exercise?” Captain Orswell demands.

There’s a pause and then Era speaks up, “Cadet Belikov stuck by Cadet Blakhart regardless to who needed his help, Sir. He deliberately wasted time waiting for her when he should have been moving ahead, Sir.” Beside Natasha, Edgar tenses and he clenches his hands into fists. 

“That’s correct, Era! Chang, tell me where you and Era went wrong!”

“Cadet Era and I did not encourage Cadet Belikov to allow others to assist Cadet Blakhart when necessary or encourage him to allow Cadet Blakhart to overcome obstacles that she could have cleared on her own, Sir!” Chang answers after a moment of hesitation. 

“Exactly right!” Captain Orswell shouts loudly, “I think the only one here who understood the point of this exercise was Yadav!” He points at her with an angry wave of his hand, “Which is why Cadet Yadav will lead the rest of your team building exercises today!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you just _haaaaaaate_ getting sick? And not as a kid, because then it's great cause you get to just stay at home and watch t.v. all day. But as an adult getting sick is the fucking worst and then all you want to do is just vomit and get it over with when you're stomach is bothering you. BUT! As a kid, vomiting is like the worst thing ever.
> 
> My, how things change...


	7. Teamwork Makes My Back Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fights are had, hearts are broken, and old Overwatch members are introduced.

For the first exercise Yadav was in charge of, she sent in one person at a time to help Vern complete the obstacle course. Every time someone helped Vern complete the obstacle, they had to run back, occasionally needing help from the next person coming in to get back over an obstacle. She even went in herself to help Vern past the last obstacle, ‘sacrificing’ herself to allow him to reach the goal.

Vern had been sufficiently embarrassed, panting and covered in sweat, he stood glaring at the ground with his fists clenched while Captain Orswell claimed that his time would have not only him, but his team killed as well. 

“Now, if I had started the timer when your Leader had sent in back-up, you would have survived. No one else in your team would have.” Captain Orswell barked at him, “Would you have completed your mission, Cadet?!” 

“No, Sir!” Vern shouted back between pants, “The mission was to complete the obstacle as a team. Mission failed, Sir!” 

“You’re damn, right! Get the hell down, we’re breaking for lunch!”

Lunch turns out to be ration bars and bottles of electrolytes passed around and eaten in the locker room. Captain Orswell disappears, mumbling about needing to meet with someone. 

Natasha expected Vern to be passing back and forth like a lion, ready to go for the kill, but he’s quietly chewing on his ration bar. He looks contemplative, as though he might actually be taking what Captain Orswell had told him seriously. Occasionally he’ll steal a glance at Yadav, who’s typing away on her tablet. One peak tells Natasha that Yadav is struggling to come up with a good exercise for the day. Edgar sits beside Natasha, scrolling through his own tablet and looking at recent news articles. Chang and Thompson are huddled around one of their tablets, giggling softly at some video or picture. Era sits off to the side, as equal distance from everyone as he could manage.

Vega is leaning against the wall, tapping her foot in a rapid beat and glaring at the floor like it owed her money. Her stance is tense one moment and then relaxed the next, and then tense again. Just as Natasha is about to ask her if something is wrong, she stalks over to her. Vega’s head is lowered, still scowling at the ground, until she reaches Natasha. And then she lifts her gaze and it’s clear that she’s upset, with how wet and red her eyes are.

“You’re Blakhart. Natasha Blakhart.” Vega says, her tone accusing.

Natasha straightens her back and tilts her head, “Yes, that is me.” 

Beside her, Edgar stills, but his eyes don’t leave his tablet.

Vega shifts her weight from one foot to the other and crosses her arms over her chest, “You slept with Private Martinez. Back in the military.” She spits. 

All eyes are on the two of them, Edgar is ready to intervene beside her and Yadav looks like she might break them up before a fight starts. Chang looks nervous, her eyes darting from one person to the next and Thompson moves just a step forward slowly, but Era holds a hand out to him to keep him from going any further. 

Natasha frowns tightly, wondering where Vega had heard that, “Why does that matter?”

Vega lurches forward suddenly, but she doesn’t take a swing at Natasha, “I bet you just fucked your way up the ranks, then? Started small and moved your way up the totem pole because you didn’t want to put in any _real_ work!” She barks in Natasha’s face. 

Natasha grits her teeth, leaning back and away from Vega as Edgar jumps to his feet and shoves himself in between them.

“Back the fuck off, Vega.” Edgar growls.

Natasha jumps to her feet to pull Edgar back just as Vern comes forward to Vega’s defense. 

“Can’t fight your own battles, can you, whore?!” Vega shrieks, “You just fuck everyone and let them do your dirty work!”

“That’s enough, Vega!” Vern hisses just as Edgar shouts, “What the fuck are you talking about?!” 

Vern pushes Vega back a step, but that doesn’t stop her from answering Edgar, “Oh, the little fuckboy didn’t hear? She fucked Yadav in _Integration Training!_ I wouldn’t be surprised if she fucked the instructors there to get off easy!” 

“What?” Edgar whips his head around and gives Natasha a look that deepens her frown.

“What the hell are you going on about, Vega?” Natasha demands, “I don’t sleep around for promotions, I do it for stress relief!” 

“You fucked my boyfriend!” Vega snarls and pushes Vern away from her, “He confessed to me after _I_ got out of boot camp!”

Natasha steps around Edgar, her brows knitting in confusion, “You were still together? I thought it was just a bad break-up.” 

“Don’t you fucking lie to me!” Vega shouts, “I heard all about you! You never cared if anyone you slept with was already in a relationship!” 

Just as Vega is pulling her arm back, Yadav jumps in between them, both arms spread to keep the distance between them. 

“That’s enough, Cadets!” She yells, glaring from Vega to Natasha and then back. 

Vega sneers at Natasha, who glares back with just as much heat.

“You know what. I think I’ve got the perfect trust exercise.” Yadav lowers her arms when it’s clear that Natasha and Vega aren’t going to tear each other’s throats out. 

“Like I’d trust that whore.” Vega mutters under her breath.

“Right back at ya, bitch.” Natasha copies Vega’s sneer in a mocking manner. 

“I said that’s enough!” Yadav repeats, “Chang, go get Captain Orswell. Tell him that we’re ready to start our trust exercise for the day.” 

Chang hops to attention with a nervous air, hesitating until Yadav assures her that it’ll be alright. 

“The rest of you, get back into the training room.” Yadav orders with a jerk of her chin towards the training room.

Thompson is the first to move along with Era, and then Vern is pulling Vega who holds Natasha’s glare for a moment longer before she goes with Vern. Yadav sighs and pats Natasha’s shoulder before she too walks away. Natasha moves to follow after her, but Edgar is grabbing her arm and holding her back before she can move a step forward. 

“Did you seriously sleep with Yadav?” Edgar leans so that he can whisper to her without being overheard.

“Yeah, and I got the shit kicked out of me when Sergeant Haynes found out.” Natasha answers honestly and a little hotly.

Before Edgar can reply, Natasha tears her arm away and stalks into the training room. Edgar follows her after a moment, but instead of settling beside her to wait for the Captain, he stands by Era. Natasha bristles at this and wonders why he’s giving her a cold shoulder all of a sudden. It’s not like he was a model student during training, he had no room to judge her. Gritting her teeth, Natasha ignores him and glares at the obstacle course. Instead of thinking about Edgar’s mood swings, she wonders what Yadav has planned.

Luckily, Natasha doesn’t have to wait long as Captain Orswell comes calmly into the training room with Chang behind him.

“Alright, Cadet Yadav. What do you have planned?” Captain Orswell asks as he sidles up to inspect the line of Cadets. He gives Yadav a nod of approval that has Yadav beaming with pride.

“I think we could all use a nice trust-fall exercise,” Yadav says, “Only instead of trusting that we’ll catch each other, we trust that we won’t kill one another.” 

Captain Orswell makes an impressed noise in the back of his throat, “Sparring, ey? Alright, go on!” 

“We’ll start off with Cadet Belikov and Cadet Blakhart. After the match, we’ll go over how you can improve your fighting.” Yadav tells them, “After that, Cadets Chang and Thompson will spar, then Vern and Vega, and then myself and Era.” Captain Orswell gives another approving nod at that.

Natasha and Edgar follow Yadav’s instructions to retrieve one of the larger mats from a storage closet behind the benches. Edgar is strangely quiet during this and avoids meeting Natasha’s eyes, and as much as she wants to confront him about it, now is not the time. 

The mat itself is a forty-by-forty-foot square of thick foam material with a thirty-foot diameter circle in red centered around a twenty-three-foot golden circle. Natasha and Edgar stand in front of one another at the center of the smallest circle while Yadav approaches them.

“There will be two ways to win. Your opponent forfeits the match, which is either by a verbal yield or tapping the ground or nearest body part twice with an open palm. The other way to win is by throwing your opponent outside of the red circle. Understand?” Yadav explains. 

“Yes, Ma’am!” Natasha and Edgar shout in unison.

“Good,” Yadav says as she begins backing away, “The match begins on my mark!” 

Natasha and Edgar fall into their respective stances with Natasha twisting to the side, one foot forward and the other behind her for balance. She brings her hands up, arms bent at the elbows to keep them close to her body. Edgar’s stance, though similar, is a bit wider and more confident. Between them, Edgar is the better melee combatant, but Natasha is better at using dirty tactics. She’ll have to rely on that if she wants any chance of winning this match. However, Edgar knows most of her tricks, so she’ll have to be careful.

When Edgar begins shifting to the right, Natasha mirrors him, causing Edgar to frown tightly, “Gonna be like that?” He mutters.

“Like what?” Natasha smirks at him and then feints to the right.

Edgar is prepared for that, though, and counters with a swift jab that catches Natasha just below her ribcage, using a little more force than was necessary. Natasha ducks to the right, just in time to evade his next punch and moves forward with a jab of her own, hitting just above his kidney. Edgar moves back with the punch, taking out most of the force and putting a bit of distance between them. Natasha moves back to the golden line of the first circle just as Edgar tries to close the distance he created. 

Natasha knows how Edgar likes to fight; with hard hits aimed at the right spot to take his opponent out quickly. The best way to counter that is to avoid as many of his hits as possible and make Edgar wear himself out.

When Edgar charges at her again, she pivots her body just out of the way and kicks her foot out. The trip is successful and allows Natasha the time she needs to recreate the distance between them as Edgar rolls with the fall and hops back up to his feet. 

“What’s the matter, Edgar?” Natasha taunts, annoyed that Edgar was being so quiet. 

Usually when they sparred there was fun banter and heavy sexual tension. But now, there’s a strange awkwardness, something particularly uncomfortable, about their dance.

Edgar doesn’t answer her question, but he does rise to the taunt. He closes the distance between them, sending a flurry of well-aimed kicks and punches. The punches have less force behind them than the kicks, making them easier to block. The kicks, Natasha makes sure to dodge as she leads him in a slow circle. As much as she tries to coax him closer to the red line, Edgar makes it impossible by jumping back. Every time he does so, he leaves a small opening that Natasha can’t resist jabbing at. Her own hits aren’t as hard as Edgar’s, but enough of them in the same spot will leave a pleasant bruise and start to hurt more and more. Natasha’s own arms and sides ache from the amount of hits that Edgar has managed to land. She’s sure that she can dodge much longer than Edgar can hit, so she switches her style to dance around him instead. 

It makes Edgar growl in frustration when he overreaches on a swing, “Would you quit running away?!” He snaps as he practically chases her around the mat. 

“I thought you loved games of catch!” Natasha replies as she hops just out of reach of a kick that hits her with a small breeze. 

Edgar doesn’t laugh, or chuckle, or even huff in amusement at that. He snarls and rushes forward, startling Natasha into dropping to the ground, out of the way of his tackle. She uses his own momentum against him and sends him toppling to the ground, dazing him for long enough that she could scramble on top of him and slam his hands to the mat with a victorious smirk.

“Yield, pretty boy.” She whispers to him, thinking that maybe his frustration came from the lack of sex between them.

Her thoughts are wrong, she realizes as Edgar glares at her with a heat she’d never seen from him before. And then suddenly he’s bucking her up and over his head, his foot lifting to kick into her stomach and vaulting her over him. It knocks the wind out of her, and in a panic, she struggles to get back to her feet just as Edgar’s foot swings around for another kick. Her arms are too slow to block the kick, so when it lands with a loud crack, it spins Natasha around and sends her crashing into the mat. Her face is kind enough to break her fall.

Pain blooms on her cheek and temple and something hot and wet touches her upper lip. Natasha is vaguely aware that she’s being lifted up off of the ground, and then a terrible ache on her nose makes itself present. And then the rest of the world comes back to her and she groans as she gingerly presses a hand against the now tender skin of her cheek. 

“Jesus- fuck! what the hell, Edgar?” Natasha winces when her fingers drift too close to her nose. 

There’s a small trickle of blood, no gushing river of sticky red so that’s a good sign. A pair of rough, calloused hands gently probe at her nose and cheek and then Era comes into view. 

“Nothing feels broken. How many fingers am I holding up?” Era holds up two fingers for a moment, until Natasha focuses on them, and then waves them around.

“Two.” Natasha replies quickly. 

Captain Orswell is kneeling beside her as well, Edgar is off to the side looking somewhat guilty and irritated. He doesn’t look at her. Yadav is standing by with a first-aid kit clutched in her hands, looking nervous. Vern at least looks concerned and nudges Vega when she lets out a chuckle. Chang and Thompson are exchanging glances as they look between her and Edgar. Embarrassment grows and bubbles in the pit of Natasha’s stomach and she glares at Edgar for it. 

 

Dinner is awkward and quiet. Natasha decides to sit outside in the cold, glaring at nothing in particular as she holds an ice-pack to her cheek. Era was right, nothing was broken, but it was bruised, bloody, and ugly. After they had made sure no permanent damage had been done, Yadav had them all pick apart the fight. What went wrong? What went right? How could either of them had done this or that better? 

And then Yadav had Edgar and Natasha pick the fight apart and Edgar had been unusually quiet.

At the very least, Natasha wasn’t the only one to walk away with bumps and bruises. That, and she got to see Vega trip over her own damn feet. That was hilarious and oh-so-satisfying to watch.

After dinner, Captain Orswell told them that the rest of the night was theirs, but he expected them to be up at 0400 hours, bright and early. Natasha had wanted to speak with Edgar during dinner, but he was avoiding her. That was fine, she would simply hunt him down and make him tell her what was wrong. 

In her lap, Natasha’s bowl of porridge is currently cooling. The smell of it is irresistible, but she knows that if she burns her tongue, her mood will only drop. Her stomach growls loudly in protest anyway.

After another ten minutes of glaring at the plants for being healthy and beautifully vibrant, Natasha finishes her dinner and sets off to find Edgar. He has made himself incredibly difficult to find; Chang, Thompson, Era and Yadav have no idea where he went off to. Natasha doesn’t bother asking Vega and since she’s occupying Vern’s attention, she doesn’t ask him either. A quick stop at their bunk shows her that his tablet is missing and Captain Orswell had pointed to small rooms where they would be able to make private calls or have time alone to themselves. The rooms are easy to find, most of their doors are closed, signifying that the room is occupied, but there’s no way to tell who’s inside. 

With a growl, Natasha stalks back to the bunk and pulls out her own tablet. Her fingers stab at the screen a bit too aggressively, but the tablet is tough enough to take the rough treatment. It takes a bit of finagling, and a little sweat and paranoia, but Natasha manages to break into the rooms’ camera system with what Yadav had taught her.

Just as she’s cycling through the first two rooms, the door to the bunk opens and Natasha’s head snaps up. Thankfully, it’s just Yadav so Natasha lets out a sigh of relief. 

“What are you doing?” Yadav asks, sitting down next to Natasha in a cautious manner. She peaks over Natasha’s shoulder to peer at the screen.

“Trying to find Edgar,” Natasha answers, “He’s been acting strangely ever since we singed those contracts to join Overwatch and I’m getting tired of it.” Out of a whim, she gestures to the bruise covering the right side of her face. 

“I think we all were a bit surprised when he kicked you like that.” Yadav says quietly. 

Her fingers reach up and delicately tap around the bruise. Natasha closes her eyes and sighs again, “Yeah. At least it doesn’t hurt as much, but that ointment smells terrible.” 

Yadav chuckles at that and retracts her hand, “Are you covering your tracks? I’m pretty sure you can get thrown in jail for what you’re doing.”

“Yeah, I’m being careful. Just like you showed me.” Natasha assures her and then stops on the camera to the room that Edgar is in. Room 425.

“Let me wipe your tablet while you go talk to Edgar!” Yadav catches Natasha just as she jumps off of her bunk, “Just in case!” 

Natasha hands over the tablet with a quiet ‘Thanks’, and almost bursts out of the room. She just manages to keep herself from running and keeps her pace relaxed and smooth. There’s no need to draw any attention to herself, lest anyone grow suspicious of her activities. And besides, room 425 is only a few, short minutes away and the door is still closed. With a frown, Natasha takes a deep breath and then gives three knocks on the door. 

There’s no answer, no sound coming from the room. Natasha grits her teeth and knocks on the door again, using more force to try and grab Edgar’s attention. As much as she wants to start banging on the door and screaming at Edgar to come out and face her like a man, she holds back and counts to ten in her head.

She’s counted to thirty by the time the door cracks open and Edgar is glaring at her with one eye, “What?”

“What do you mean, ‘What?’?” Natasha demands, “Why aren’t you talking to me?” 

Edgar gives a roll of his eyes and then allows the door to fully open. He gestures for Natasha to enter, but he doesn’t seem happy about it. The door closes behind her with a quiet hiss and she crosses her arms, giving Edgar a pointed look. 

“Well how the hell do you expect me to feel when you _cheated_ on me?!” Edgar finally barks after a long pause. 

Natasha blanches at that, dropping her arms to her sides, “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“You slept with Yadav! While we were at boot-camp!” Edgar throws his hand to the door, as though Yadav was standing there, as though the issue is plainly obvious.

“I was stressed out! It was stress relief! And how exactly is that cheating when we’re in an open relationship?” Natasha crosses her arms again and sneers at Edgar.

“Since when the hell are we open?” Edgar retorts, his voice raising. 

“Since the damned beginning of our relationship!” Natasha throws her arms in the air, “I made that very fucking clear!” 

“And I _thought_ I made it clear that I wanted more than that!” 

“When the _hell_ did you do that?” Natasha pauses, taking a step back as she realizes, “Is that what those stupid proposals were about? Were you serious?” 

“No! Before then! Back in Bangkok, our _first date!_ ” Edgar cries. 

“ _Date!?_ What fucking date??” Natasha takes another step back, growing upset at this revelation.

“That walk we went on? We found a creek in the woods and it was beautiful! And I said I wanted to stay like this forever, and you agreed!” Edgar explains with wild gestures, stepping forward in an attempt to close the growing gap between them.

“How in the _fuck_ was that a date? You asked me to join you on a _walk!_ You’re supposed to _specify_ that it’s a fucking date, you asshole! You can’t just fucking _assume_ that everyone knows it’s a fucking date when you don’t even fucking say anything!” Natasha fumes, shouting loudly at Edgar.

“I made it so fucking clear that it was a date! I used all the right signals! You have no right to say that you didn’t know it was a date!” Edgar shouts back.

“What. Fucking. _Signals?!_ ” Natasha shrieks, “Who fucking told you that _signals_ were a good idea?! You know I haven’t been in a fucking actual _relationship_ since high school! And that only lasted a fucking _month_ , Edgar! How am I supposed to know anything about _signals?!_ ” 

Edgar takes a step back now, frowning tightly as his own outrage wavers, “Well now you _do_ know that I want us to have a more serious relationship.” He falters and takes another step back. 

Natasha rubs her face roughly and takes in a few deep breaths, thinking back to the last time they fought. Edgar had pulled back then just as he was now, and back then she had continued attacking him and he’d blocked her out for a week. 

“Okay,” She says and then takes another deep breath, “Fine. Now I know what you’re expecting from me.” She lowers her voice and struggles to make it as calm as possible. 

“Yeah.” Edgar agrees, his voice just as quiet though it was filled with a nervous anxiety.

Natasha opens her eyes to take in Edgar’s appearance. His eyes are a little wet and his lip is quivering, but he holds himself high. 

“I’m sorry,” Natasha tells him, “I’m sorry for yelling at you. And I’m sorry that I can’t give you what you want.” She shakes her head and waits for Edgar’s reply.

For a moment he stares at her with a look of heartbreak, and then he nods to himself once. And then again. And then he clears his throat, “Then this is the end… Of us.” 

Natasha frowns, “So it is.” 

Neither of them says another word as Natasha leaves the room, her movements a little stiffer than they should be. Edgar stares out of a small window as she leaves.

If Natasha sheds any tears that night, she doesn’t really know why and never speaks of it. And if the next morning she has a pounding headache, well at least Chang is quietly handing her a painkiller and a glass of water with a comforting smile. She and Yadav join her for breakfast after their morning exercises, politely inviting Vega as well, who declines with a sneer directed at Natasha. She can’t help but think of how _fun_ the next few weeks are going to be.

 

 

It's unbearably hot out in the desert, but at least it’s a dry heat. Well, that’s what Natasha tells herself as she bakes in the unforgiving heat. There’s little shade provided by the rocks she’s settled herself around. Tiny bugs skitter around her, even a few lizards pass her by. Those small distractions are dangerous, though, so she keeps herself from watching them go about their lives and focuses on the barren village through the scope of her rifle. 

“I wonder how mom and dad are doing without me?” David asks beside her. 

He isn’t laying down like she is, but rather crouched and leaning against one of the larger boulders. He has a pair of broken binoculars in one of his hands that has some suspiciously red splotches on it.

“I’m sure they’re fine.” Natasha replies, spotting a glinting light in the distance. 

“How could we possibly be _fine?!_ ” Her mother hisses from behind her.

Natasha glances over her shoulder to raise a brow at her mother, her father standing beside her with a supportive hand on her mother’s shoulder. Her mother looks distraught; her eyes are red and puffy and there are tears streaming down her eyes. Her father looks disappointed, and there are tears trickling down his cheeks as well. 

“You _killed_ him! You killed my baby!” Her mother shouts as Natasha returns to finding the source of that strange glinting light.

“I didn’t kill him.” Natasha mutters, “He’s right here, alive and well.” 

“No. I’m not.” David says.

Natasha tightens her grip on her gun to keep it from shaking.

“I didn’t shoot him.” Natasha insists and squeezes her eyes shut. 

“Didn’t you?” 

Natasha has no idea who posed the question, but even with her eyes closed she can see the grotesque hole in her brother’s head. His left eye is missing, as is most of the left side of his scalp. It’s splattered on the boulder behind him, circling around a sizable bullet hole just behind him. Blood is oozing slowly out of the gaping wound and down his neck. 

The piercing sound of an omnic screeching forces her eyes open just in time to see the sharp claws on an omnic’s hand tearing into her head. She can hear her parents screaming behind her in horror and agony at the revelation of her brother’s death.

Natasha wakes with a deep breath, holding it as her body trembles and then lets it out slowly. Her eyes peak open and the sight of Yadav’s bunk above hers has never been more comforting. Quickly, she lets out a long sigh of relief and covers her face with her hands.

She’s back in Overwatch. It’s been three weeks since they started training as Cadets. Edgar only talks to her when necessary. Vega still hates her. It’s fucking _Friday_ which means tomorrow is the team’s day off and everyone will be drinking the night away at a nearby pub tonight.

Natasha is fine.

She’s _fine_ damnit. 

And she’s crying. _Fuck._ And covered in cold sweat. _Damnit!_

Natasha quickly wipes away the tears coating her cheeks, sitting up and wiping her face off with her blanket. She’s still trembling, but that’s probably because she can still hear the faint screaming in the back of her head. Luckily, no one else is awake, so no one notices when she sneaks out of the room. 

The halls are dimly lit, any windows show the moon high in the sky with no sun in sight. No one else seems to up at this hour, but there’s probably a skeleton crew scurrying around quietly. Natasha curses when she realizes she didn’t even look at the time. But that’s fine, there’s a clock in the locker room and she needs a shower anyway. Her footsteps are hasty and slap against the smooth tiled flooring, but the sound of her heart pounding away like a sledgehammer in her ears keeps her from hearing them. 

Natasha doesn’t realize she’s broken into a sprint until she stops at the locker room, leaning against her locker and panting while her body trembles. 

“Get it together, Blakhart!” She spits harshly.

When her body doesn’t stop shaking, she slams her fist against her locker with snarl and a curse. And then she’s tearing her clothes off with a desperation that doesn’t care if she tears or rips anything. The shock of freezing water stabbing at her skin makes her gasp and flinch, but she holds herself under that stream of ice until it takes her out of her nightmare. Once she can no longer hear the screaming, Natasha turns the dial slowly until the water is just above a lukewarm temperature. With a deep and even breath, Natasha’s heartbeat returns to its normal, steady beat. 

As soon as she’s calm, Natasha scrubs her body down with a bar of soap that has small exfoliating beads in it. It’s a small luxury, and one of the few they’re allowed while they’re on Duty. Captain Orswell assures them that the closer they get to graduating, the more luxuries they’ll be allowed. It scratches her skin gently, in a soothing kind of way. But that’s not what Natasha needs right now. She needs something more… Something that would break the skin, leave aches for days. Maybe she could… No, Natasha argues with herself, she isn’t going to be sleeping with another teammate again. It just makes everything complicated. 

She doesn’t need another Edgar…

They’re drinking at a bar tonight!

Natasha will be able to find exactly what she needs there! Yeah, she just has to make it through the rest of the day. 

“I can do that.” Natasha tells herself as she shuts the shower off.

 

 

Natasha’s confidence lasts her through lunch, and despite the cold she finds herself outside again. With another steaming bowl of porridge in her lap. At the very least, the mixed temperatures keep her mind busy while she mulls through who she’s going to take to bed tonight. 

It has to be someone from another team. There are two teams that are senior to her own, so she’ll scope the bar for someone from those teams. There are also three teams that are junior to hers, but they greatly enjoy intermingling with her team whenever possible.

Take now, for instance, she thinks. Back in the warmth of the cafeteria Chang and Thompson usher over three people to join them. They look as young and naïve as Chang and Thompson did when they were first introduced to Natasha. Vega and Vern are sitting with the supposed leaders of the three junior teams as well, probably passing on advice.

Probably telling them to keep their teams away from Natasha. Well, Vega would definitely say that. That bitch has been cock-blocking Natasha whenever she could. But not tonight, damnit! Even if she has to go bar hopping out of the damned city, Natasha is going to have sex _tonight!_ And if Vega won’t leave her alone, well at least she can instigate a fight and while that won’t be nearly as satisfying as sex, her head won’t drown in her in her nightmares. She’ll be far too sore for it.

Natasha will never admit that she nearly jumped out of her skin when someone sat beside her suddenly. It’s just Yadav, thankfully, who has her own bowl of steaming, hot soup. 

“Hey,” Natasha greets her and then shoves a spoon full of porridge in her mouth. 

“Hey, yourself,” Yadav smiles brightly at her, “So, I saw you running out of the bunkroom a bit earlier than usual. Wanna talk about it?” Yadav keeps her voice calm and casual, as though Natasha’s panic attack isn’t a big deal.

Natasha appreciates that, “Just hot,” She lies, “I wanted to cool off in the showers.” Partly true.

Yadav hums beside her with a bob of her head, as though she believes Natasha. A part of Natasha wants to confess that she had a nightmare, but a fearful part of her refuses to let anyone close. They both know that Yadav doesn’t believe Natasha. 

“So, Brevard from ‘The A-Team’,” One of the junior teams, “wants to know if he and Kristoff can join our bar night?” 

“None of the others want to join us?” Natasha asks out of curiosity. 

“Nah, they’re having some gaming tournament or something.” Yadav replies with a careless shrug. 

“Well I don’t mind, it’s not like we own the bar or anything.” Natasha pauses for a moment, poking at her bowl, “Do we have a team name?” 

Yadav laughs at that, “Not yet! We’re going over names tonight and they offered to help us. Apparently, we’re too old to come up with a cool enough name.” Natasha barks out a laugh at that, 

“Too old? What are they, twelve?” Natasha asks between chuckles. 

“They have a point!” Yadav insists, “Era is our oldest member and he’s forty-three! Thompson is our youngest at 21 and Chang isn’t too far behind him! But everyone else is in their thirties!”

Natasha raises a brow at that, “You know I’m only twenty-five, right? I’ll be twenty-six in a few months.”

Yadav pauses at that, and then lets out a what could only be described as a ‘squee’, “Oh my god, you’re a baby!”

Natasha nearly chokes on her porridge, “What?” She coughs, “Aren’t you twenty-six?!” 

“No, silly! I’m _thirty-five!_ ” Yadav giggles in a manner that is distinctly childlike. 

It’s disturbing. 

“Oh my god,” Natasha mutters, “You’re a fucking cougar. Why do I always fall for the cougars?” 

Quite cruelly, Yadav laughs boisterously at Natasha’s moment of quiet introspection. 

 

 

A stink-eye from Captain Orswell and a jerk of his head draws Natasha away from the showers just before dinner. They’d just completed another exercise and Captain Orswell had commended them on their improvements, offhandedly mentioning that he’d be signing them up for low-risk missions. 

Natasha frowns but follows him back into the training room, the doors close behind her quietly, “Captain?” She asks. 

“Why are you avoiding your team?” Captain Orswell growls but keeps his voice low. 

“I’m not sure what you mean.” It’s a mistake to play dumb with Orswell, Natasha realizes when Captain Orswell’s stare turns to a harsh glare and his lips twist in anger.

“Cadet, you do _not_ want to try my patience today.” He warns. 

Natasha swallows nothing nervously and then clears her throat, “I don’t have an excuse, Sir.” She says instead of admitting the truth.

Captain Orswell lets out a disappointed hum, “I know you and Cadet Vega didn’t get off on the right foot when you met, but you need to put that behind you. A team needs cohesion. You’re all going to the bar tonight, yeah? Talk to her there and put this idiotic fight behind you.” 

Natasha is quick to salute Captain Orswell and assure him that she’ll do just that. As she breaks off for the showers, however, she grits her teeth at the thought of having to be the bigger person when she didn’t even _start_ the damned fight. She’ll just wait until Vega is nice and relaxed and has a few, or several, drinks in her before Natasha approaches her. The more inebriated Vega is, the better shot Natasha has at winning a fist-fight, should one break out. 

And since Natasha can wait until the bar to talk to Vega, she sits back outside with a toasted sub and a bag of chips. It’s actually pretty nice with all the snow covering everything in a flat blanket of sparkling white. The cold is also much more tolerable than heat. Instead of sitting at one of the benches, Natasha sits at a table she cleared earlier.

Again, Natasha is surprised by uninvited guests. This time, there are two of them and none of them are on her team. However, she’s heard of both of them and researched one of them extensively. 

“Do you mind if we join you?” Reinhardt asks politely. 

Reinhardt’s large, hulking frame practically hides his companion, but what stands out more than his size is the scar that greys his left eye. His very angry companion, on the flipside, is barely taller than the table, and he seems particularly offended of having been dragged out into the cold. Natasha blinks at them both in shock. 

“Sure.” She replies smartly. 

“Thank you, my friend!” Reinhardt says much more gently than his reputation lead Natasha to expect. His thick Russian accent is calming and pleasant to Natasha’s ears. 

It reminds her of Edgar’s mother and father, and for a moment she wonders how they are. Olya had sent her an email about wanting to get back in touch with her, ‘It’s been so long, my Spring Chicken! We simply must speak!’, she’d said in her email. Natasha knows that she’ll bring up the break-up, but she does like Olya. And Viktor and Katya would be there, vising their mother, so she could catch up with them, too.

Both men join her at the stone table and Natasha is certain that the table gives a light rumble when Reinhardt sits down.

“I had just returned from a mission when I saw that my good friend Torbjörn had not left his quarters while I was gone.” The large man claims with a wide smile, “So I thought it would do him some good to get some fresh air!” 

Torbjörn scoffs indignantly at that, “I told you, I was working on a new project!” He yells angrily at Reinhardt. 

“Yes, and it is good to take breaks! Right…?” Reinhardt pauses, waiting for Natasha to supply her name.

“Cadet Natasha Blakhart, sir!” Natasha replies quickly and eagerly with a salute, completely forgetting about her sandwich, “And yes, breaks are very important.” She adds when Reinhardt smiles patiently at her. 

“Aha!” He cries in triumph, “You see? Everyone agrees!” 

Torbjörn grunts at that muttering a, “Nice to meet you,” into his own food. 

Natasha isn’t sure whether she’s made an enemy out of the weapons smith or not. At the very least Reinhardt seems happy to be there with her.

“So, Natasha. Tell me, whose team are you on?” Reinhardt looks back to the cafeteria where her team is having dinner with the other teams.

“Captain Orswell’s team, Sir.” Natasha answers. 

That garners a laugh out of Torbjörn, Natasha thinks. Or he’s chocking on his food, but since Reinhardt isn’t concerned about that, Natasha lets it be as well.

“Captain Orswell, hmm? I hope he is treating you well?” 

Reinhardt seems so earnest in his concern for her that Natasha is honestly startled and stares into his good eye in shock before answering. 

“Uhm, yes, Sir. Captain Orswell pushes us to be our very best for our team.” Natasha recalls his earlier warning and tries not to shudder. 

“Orswell has always been a stickler for teams.” Torbjörn comments around his food. 

“Ah, and I am surprised that he even wishes to train a team. Perhaps the old dog is getting lonely in his age…” Reinhardt suggests with a look that’s thousands of miles away.

“Speaking of, where in the world did my daughter run off to?” Torbjörn sends Reinhardt a heated look, “She didn’t even come around to see me!” 

“Ah, Brigitte mentioned wanting to fix up my armor and run a few tests on it to ensure that it would be ready for our next mission.” Reinhardt assures the smaller, angrier man. 

Torbjörn sneers at that but accepts Reinhardt’s answer. He does mumble something in Swedish, but it’s too quiet for Natasha to make out. And then he’s glaring at her plate, and then her, and it takes Natasha a moment to realize that she completely forgot about her sub. With a nervous chuckle and a smile of thanks, Natasha tucks into her dinner. Throughout the dinner, Natasha is regaled with old stories of valor and honor by Reinhardt. Torbjörn seems happy enough to let Reinhardt do all the talking. 

 

 

Sitting at the bar of Overwatch’s favored pub, Natasha nurses a shot of whiskey on the rocks. She has a plan in mind for the night; wait for Vega to get drunk (possibly coax her into drinking more), have a brief conversation, and then flirt heavily with team Cockerel’s quiet and reserved Mechanic. Well, that was his nickname, but Natasha would find out his real name sooner or later. Or never, which was also fine. 

Team Cockerel was slated to graduate to the rank of Agent within a week or so, depending on how their final mission as Cadets went. Natasha was sure that at least _one_ person from the team would be happy to celebrate early. 

Before she can think further on her plans for the night, she’s interrupted by Thompson poking at her shoulder. It takes Natasha a moment to school her expression into something that isn’t filled with annoyance, and then she turns to see a few expectant expressions from a few of her teammates. 

“Oh yeah, the name thing.” Natasha blinks at them and ignores their smirks, “Can I get another whiskey?” She hails the bartender. 

“Ah, come on! We aren’t that bad!” Thompson crows and gives her arm a little shake.

Natasha smiles a little at his pestering, “Please, I think I need an entire bottle of whiskey to get through this night with you lot.” She teases.

“Yeah, yeah. Get your drink and meet us at that table,” Yadav points to a table near the center of the crowded bar where more of their team sits, along with the promised Brevard and Kristoff. 

Natasha rolls her eyes as they leave and tosses her first drink of the night back just as the bartender slides her the second. She slides over her credit chit for the bartender to scan and then heads over to the table. At the table is Era, Thompson, Chang, Yadav and Vern alongside of Brevard and Kristoff. Natasha takes a seat next to Yadav.

“Vega and Edgar skipping?” Natasha asks casually, silently cursing her continued use of Edgar’s first name instead of last. 

“Vega texted me saying that they would be a little late. She wanted to talk to Belikov about something.” Vern answers behind his own drink. It’s some kind of colorful martini.   
Natasha can’t help the suspicion that bubbles in her gut at the implication that Vega and Edgar were spending time together. She doesn’t comment on it, instead nods and swirls the whiskey in her glass before taking a sip.

“Since we’re waiting, maybe you old people can give us some more war stories!” Brevard suggests eagerly. 

He’s only few months younger than Thompson.

“I gave you lot all my good war stories, you don’t want the rest.” Era grumbles at him. 

“Okay, what about Vern?” Kristoff nudges him, “Got any good stories?”

Vern chuckles a bit at how the younger members lean in excitedly, “Nothing I can really talk about.” He tells them before taking a sip of his drink.

Thompson and Chang pout at him, but Yadav gives Natasha a slightly mischievous look, “What about Blakhart? She hasn’t given us any stories yet.”

Natasha immediately glares at her for throwing her to the wolves. She’s suddenly assaulted by the bright-eyed expressions of those who were far too eager to speak of war.

“Yeah, come on!” Thompson pushes. 

“Please?” Chang begs.

“We’ll do _anything_ …” Brevard wiggles his eyebrows in a suggestive manner.

“Alright, alright!” Natasha finally caves, “You’re buying me another drink,” She tells Brevard.

“Yes, Ma’am!” He salutes her with a silly grin and then rushes off to the bar.

Natasha waits politely for him to return with another whiskey, “Before I start, do you want something from my time in the military or something more recent?” 

There’s a bit of discussion before Chang asks, “We only get one story?” Her eyes, so large and filled with sadness, plead with Natasha for more.

“Yes. Only one.” Natasha replies.

Chang curses at that, “The puppy eyes usually get you!” 

“Maybe next time,” Natasha laughs lightly. 

“Okay, we’ll take something from your time as a gun for hire!” Yadav tells her as they settle down. 

Natasha mulls over the best story to tell, one that wasn’t harsh, but wasn’t boring. Finally, one comes to her.

“Alright, I’ll tell you about the time I once had to sneak onto a cargo plane.” She tells them and receives curious stares.

“Oh, this is a good one! The plane took off while she was still on it and we were almost involved in an international incident!” Edgar spoils her entire story as he and Vega slide up to the table.

Natasha gives him an irritated look, “And that’s how that went.” She says with a deadpan voice.

Edgar blinks and then looks guilty, as he should, “Sorry!” 

Vega frowns tightly and hits Edgar’s arm, “Hey, mind getting me a drink?” 

“Oh, uh, sure. The usual?” Vega nods and Edgar makes a beeline for the bar. 

Natasha raises a brow at that, wondering when Edgar started waiting on Vega so casually. Vega gives her a self-satisfied smirk as she takes her seat.

“You know, you should really be a little nicer to Edgar.” Vega sneers, “After all he’s put up with.” 

Natasha’s lips curl in anger and she grips her glass a little tighter, “And what would you know about it?” 

Vega leans forward, smiling like she’s caught Natasha in a trap, “A lot more than you’d like.” 

Thompson slams his fist down on the table, making everyone jump and stare in shock. 

“What happened?!” He demands, “How did you almost end up in an international incident??” 

Natasha almost laughs at that, grateful for the break in tension. 

“Yeah!” Chang taps the table, “What happened?” 

“Well, my target was actually sneaking on the plane and I had to follow them. Edgar was playing lookout, but our walky-talkies lost connection so he couldn’t warn me about the pilots who boarded the plane-"

“You used _walky-talkies?!_ ” Kristoff gasps in absolute offence.

“Hey now, they worked perfectly fine! And we couldn’t afford the fancy communicators everyone uses these days,” Natasha defends herself, “Do you want to know the story or not?” 

Brevard quickly covers Kristoff’s mouth, “Yes, please! Continue!” 

Edgar comes back with two drinks, sliding one in front of Vega before taking the empty seat next to her, “The pilots showed up ten minutes early. We still have no idea why.” He says, gesturing for Natasha to continue.

It was… strange to be sharing a story with Edgar after weeks of silence between them, “Yeah, I had just found the target and was setting up to eliminate them when the engines roar to life. So, naturally, it spooks the target who whips around sees me coming up with a knife. He turns and bolts towards the cockpit and throws various crates down whenever he can, so I get a nice workout in as I try to catch him. Meanwhile, my walky-talky starts picking up interference from the cockpit just as the plane starts moving. But, the moving of the plane knocks my target off balance! So, I go in for the kill, right? And then the plane takes off!” 

The table lets out gasps of horror, demanding to know what happened next.

“Obviously she got knocked on her ass.” Vega rolls her eyes. 

Natasha glares at her, but continues, “I did. Actually, we both got thrown around along with the crates and its actually a miracle that I didn’t die. I managed to grab onto a crate that had been properly secured, but the target wasn’t. He fell all the way to the back of the plane and got crushed by the unsecured crates he knocked over. Which was fine, he’s dead and we can get paid for it. But then there’s the issue of when the plane will land, which wasn’t going to be for another _twenty_ hours.” Natasha pauses with a groan. 

“What the hell did you do to get out of that one?” Era asks.

“I snuck around once the plane stabilized in the air, grabbed some snacks while the pilots chatted and stole an extra uniform. And then I waited, and then I hid when we finally landed, and popped out when the people who were checking the cargo came aboard. Thankfully, my stolen uniform was a close enough match that they mistook me for one of their own and I ‘stumbled’ on the body and screamed. And then ran while screaming and pointing back to the plane. Everyone went to investigate so I could sneak away, get rid of the uniform and buy a plane ticket back home.”

“Of course, that was after you got stopped by security for the random search.” Edgar chimes in with a chuckle, “I still remember that call you made! What did you say…?” Edgar trails off with a thoughtful look.

Natasha rolls her eyes at that, “I was asking for my mother because she would vouch for me. Like that would ever happen. Anyway, at the end of the day I walked off scot-free.” 

The younger Cadets gaped at her in shock while the older, more experienced members of her team simply glared at her with suspicion. 

“Isn’t that something you _wouldn’t_ want to brag about?” Vern asks with a raised brow. 

“Yeah. Couldn’t you get in serious trouble for just _talking_ about it?” Vega sneers.

Natasha gives them both a wide smile, “Well, yeah. If it all wasn’t the product of a venom-induced-fever-dream.” She takes a final sip of her whiskey before moving on to the one that Brevard fetched for her. 

“What?!” “None of that ever happened?” “You just lied! We want our story!” Were all shouted at her in anger and shock.

“Please,” Natasha chuckles, “I’m not gonna tell you any stories like that. It would give you too many ideas.” 

“Well, what did you mean by ‘venom-induced fever-dream’.” Yadav asks. 

“Oh, she got bit by a rattle-snake when we were hiking in some mountains,” Edgar explains casually, “Thankfully we were close enough to a nearby hospital, so nothing needed to be amputated.” 

“ _That_ was one of my closest calls and we were on _vacation_.” Natasha complains. 

That earns a few light-hearted chuckles at the table, but she suspects some of the laughter might be a bit mocking. Especially coming from Vega. Both Edgar’s and Natasha’s were more strained than relaxed. It doesn’t matter though, as Kristoff and Brevard take charge of their gathering and start pressing for ideas for team names. They insist that it has to be something cool and edgy, like a dangerous predator, or else they won’t be taken seriously. 

At that, Era calls out the first name of the night; Fluffy Pink Rabbits. Fluffy Pink Rabbits, of course, becomes one of the top contenders for the title of Team Name. The others are; Blackhawk, Shark Attack and Seabiscuit. 

“These are all terrible names.” Kristoff groans loudly.

“Why don’t we take a break and pick this back up next week? We’ve been at this for over an hour now and I’d like to enjoy the night before its over.” Natasha says after a pause. 

“Yeah, I second that.” Era pipes up, he hadn’t said a word after his initial suggestion.

He doesn’t wait for anyone else to agree before he pounds back the rest of his drink and leaves the table. 

“Oh, I guess we can pick this back up next week. Your homework is to come up with better names!” Brevard shakes his finger at them and then he and Kristoff catch up with their own teammates. 

“Have plans then?” Yadav asks Natasha with a sly grin.

“Far too many,” Natasha sighs and longingly looks over at team Cockerel before returning her attention to the table, “Vega, mind getting a drink with me? I’m empty.” Natasha offers good-naturedly as she shows off her empty glass.

Vega looks at her as though she’s grown two heads and is mildly offended by this, but after a nudge from Edgar, “Alright. Sure.”

Vega follows her, although reluctantly, to the bar and they sit beside each other in a tense and awkward silence. The bartender seems confused as he slides over to them and offers his services.

“Let me buy you a drink, Vega.” Natasha takes a deep breath and prepares herself to be the bigger person.

“Okay…” Vega eyes her suspiciously, “I’ll have the house special. Two, actually.” 

“Coming right up!” The bartender tells them with a happy smile.

“So, what is this about?” Vega asks as the bartender busies himself with preparing their drinks.

Natasha frowns, staring at the line of bottles on display behind the bar before turning to Vega, “Well, obviously we got off on the wrong foot and I’d like to… repair any damages done to our relationship so that we may better coordinate as a team.” 

The words leave Natasha’s lips in a near mechanical manner. She’d been practicing them in her head while the others struggled to come up with good team names. 

“Really?” Vega asks in clear disbelief. 

Natasha groans, rolls her eyes, scratches the back of her neck and then finally answers, “Yes. Okay? I’m sorry for sleeping with your boyfriend all those years ago even though he told me he had just gotten out of a bad break-up. I should have done more research into him, but I didn’t and now it’s biting me in the ass, okay?” She spits out. 

“Wait, he told you we broke up? How many times did you sleep with him? How long was that going on? And research? You research people?” Vega fires off her questions without allowing Natasha time to answer.

And then the bartender sets their drinks in front of them. Natasha grabs one and practically slams it down her throat. It burns so nicely, but she’s sure she missed whatever taste it might have had so she gestures for another from the bartender. Vega is quick to snatch her drink before Natasha can grab it. 

“One, yes. He did tell me he broke up with _someone_. He never said, and I never asked. Two, I’m not entirely sure on the number, but our brief fling lasted around two months before I got bored with him. And three, yes, I do background checks on anyone I have to work with. Keeps my ass covered, usually.” Natasha takes another drink, taking it in slowly this time and savoring the sweet tang. 

There’s another pause, awkward and tense again, but at least Natasha has a very nice buzz going. Vega doesn’t look happy, she’s just glaring at her drink.

“We were engaged.” Vega admits when Natasha’s drink is half-way finished.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha says again. 

She knows _now_ that they were engaged, that they share a child, that Vega handed over the custody of their child to Martinez to join Overwatch and that she speaks with the child at least three times a week. 

Martinez at least cleaned up his act after they broke off their engagement. He even settled down. With Vega’s former best friend. And they have a daughter of their own on the way.

Natasha isn’t sure how Vega and Martinez stand with one another, but they have a well enough standing to be negotiating visits.

Vega lets out a heavy sigh, “It doesn’t matter. My baby loves her Daddy more than she’ll ever love me.” 

The statement is filled with bitter heartbreak and makes Natasha frown.

“What makes you say that?” She asks when Vega goes quiet again.

“Because I chose Overwatch over _her_.” Vega sneers, “And her father managed to make it look like he chose her over life in the military. That bastard was just looking for any excuse to get out. I just want the world to be _safe_ for her! But she’s at that age where it’s her way or the highway…” Vega trails off with a smile that belies her adoration of her daughter. 

“Just like her mom, huh?” Natasha says and then holds her breath, waiting for a knife in her throat. 

“Yeah.” Vega chuckles instead. 

Natasha taps her glass with the pads of her fingers while she thinks on what to say next. The tension between them might be lessened, but it’s no less awkward. The alcohol has definitely helped ease the conversation. If Vega was anywhere near sober, she probably would have punched Natasha for her comment. 

“So, are we at least cordial with each other now?” Natasha asks. 

Vega seems to ponder that for a moment before she moves, quicker than Natasha anticipates, and has a fistful of Natasha’s shirt in her hands and almost bangs their heads together when she pulls Natasha close with a harsh tug.

“You tell _anyone_ about my baby? You’re gonna regret it. Got me?” Vega’s breath is warm and reeks of alcohol, but her threat still puts Natasha on edge. 

“Got it.” Natasha grits her teeth and harshly grabs a hold of Vega’s hand and rips it off her shirt. 

The two women eye one another with more heat than Natasha had planned. It wasn’t like she forced Vega to bring up the kid. Vega stands abruptly, pointing two fingers to her eyes and then jabs those fingers at Natasha. The message is clear, and Natasha bares her teeth at it. At the very least, Vega leaves, but Edgar trails after her looking worried. 

What the hell is going on between them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had a guy ask me out on a date once, but instead of saying "Hey wanna go out on a date?" he said "Hey wanna go hiking?" AND FUCKING OF COURSE I LOVE HIKING! But I had no idea it was a date until he asked me out again AND THE ONLY REASON I KNEW IT WAS A DATE WAS BECAUSE HE SAID "YOU WANNA GO OUT?!" INSTEAD OF HANGOUT AND I HAD TO ASK HIM TO CLARIFY!
> 
> As you can tell, I am not mad about that particular... thing… anymore. Clearly. Anyone else go through that?
> 
> Also, I'm so happy with how long this chapter is and if you're wondering why I'm not posting as much, it's because Chapter 10 is fighting me and I CLEARLY cannot keep up with myself right now. Idk we'll see how this week goes and how many extra chapters ya'll will get.


	8. Ache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some conversations don't go as well as others.

There’s nothing quite as satisfying for Natasha as a partner who likes it rough. She thinks this as Mechanic slams her back against the wall. Her grunt of mild discomfort is swallowed by his lips as his hands quickly undo her pants and shove at them. Natasha gets the message and bites Mechanic’s lip until he backs away long enough for her to get her pants down her hips before he’s back biting at her neck. The sting of pain is delicious, but it’s not enough, so Natasha pulls Mechanic’s long hair harshly, drawing a growl of pain from the taller man. 

Natasha’s pants are suddenly ripped off of her legs when Mechanic lifts her up off her feet and slams her back against the wall again. She has to scramble to get her legs around his waist so that she doesn’t fall to the ground, but with the way his hips line up with hers, Natasha doesn’t mind. His cock, engorged and bulging, is covered in uncomfortably rough denim, and he grinds it against Natasha’s dripping cunt so nicely that she can’t complain. 

“God, please, I need it!” Natasha begs before she can stop herself. 

“Do you?” Mechanic answers back mockingly.

“If you don’t fu- _uck!_ -” Mechanic wastes no time in interrupting Natasha, having unzipped his pants and slamming his cock inside of her without warning. 

Natasha claws at his back when he sets an immediately brutal pace. She hears him snarl when her nails cut into his skin and he retaliates with a skin-breaking bite to her shoulder.

“ _Damnit!_ ” Natasha screams at the pain, there’s just _something_ missing and it’s driving her insane. 

Just as she rakes her claw of a hand back into Mechanic’s auburn hair, he snatches her wrist and bangs it against the wall, “Keep that there!” He barks at her.

The command sends a thrill down Natasha’s spine and she gasps unconsciously follows it before she realizes what she’s doing. 

But it’s strangely… _pleasant._

Irritation takes away the pleasantry and replaces it with a hot anger, she has little control against the wall and as much as she’s enjoying being practically drilled into it, it’s setting her on edge. 

“Bed!” She snaps at him, letting her hands fall onto his shoulders and shoves at him mid thrust. 

“So pushy.” He grumbles.

Luckily his bed isn’t too far from the wall and all Mechanic has to do is pivot the both of them around and then Natasha is falling on her back on the bed. Though his room is fairly small, his bed is large enough for the both of them. 

Mechanic’s lips crash onto Natasha’s with mostly teeth that split her bottom lip. She gasps at the shock of pain and then mewls when Mechanic sucks at the sliver of a wound. She’s given only a moment to complain before his cock is roughly shoved back into her dripping cunt. Mechanic grabs a hold of one of her legs and throws it over his shoulder, managing to drive his cock even deeper into her with each harsh thrust. He forces her head back, his free fist tangled in her hair, when she bites at his shoulder. Her teeth managed to catch and break the softer skin there and Mechanic curses at her for it. 

“Damnit! Someone’s in a bitchy mood.” Mechanic snarls at her, “Keep it up and I’m gonna tie you down.”

The threat sends an interesting tingle down Natasha’s spine and makes her bite her lip to keep from gasping at the idea out loud.

“Oh,” Mechanic’s thrusting hips slow to a crawl that makes Natasha bear her teeth, “Like that idea? Want me to bring out the chains?” He nods to the head of the bed where a pair of soft looking leather hand-cuffs are secured to both sides of the metal frame. 

Natasha looks to the foot of the bed where another pair of cuffs are secured to the end of the metal bedframe. Mechanic’s thrusting comes to a slow stop as he watches Natasha contemplate the idea. 

“I’ve got rope under the bed if that’s more your speed.” He offers with an almost nervous air.

Somewhat tender and vulnerable. 

Natasha uses his unguarded moment to grab a fist full of his hair and pull it hard enough that he follows the motion, falling to his side. This makes it so much easier for Natasha to take control and settle herself over him. She doesn’t give him a chance to recover or regain his wits before she guides his cock back into her cunt. Mechanics fingers dig into her hips as she slams her hips down, her greedy little cunt swallowing his cock with obscene squelch. Mechanic lets out a low groan as Natasha pants with every thrust that Mechanic desperately tries to match. He spreads his legs and bends his knees to allow his feet to gain a better purchase on the bedsheets and roughly thrusts his hips up to meet Natasha’s when she crashes her own his down. The pace is fast and rough, and yet there’s still something _missing_. There’s something that’s just keeping her away from that release that Natasha aches for.

Whatever is missing doesn’t quite matter, as Mechanic moves again, lifting himself up quickly and wrapping his arms around Natasha without warning. Natasha grunts when he twists them to the side with his cock still buried in her. Not willing to give up control, Natasha digs her fingernails into the softer parts of his side, just underneath his ribcage. With a hiss of pain, Mechanic is forced to hold her with only one arm while the other one grasps at Natasha’s jabbing hand. Natasha uses the lax grip he has on her to wiggle her other arm free, but he catches that one too just as her hand closes into a fist and begins a swing that’s aimed at his face. With a bit of effort, Mechanic has her pinned to the bed, moving both of her hands to one of his. He leans away from her snapping teeth with a triumphant grin, letting his free hand wander down Natasha’s torso to the edge of her shirt. As his hand smooths up her stomach, he pulls her shirt up as well. 

“Really? A sports bra?” Natasha rolls her eyes at Mechanics comment.

“I’m sorry, are we fucking or having brunch because I actually forgot an-.” Mechanic smothers the rest of her snappy comment with a bruising kiss and abruptly snaps his hips against hers.

Natasha waits patiently for Mechanic to let his guard down again and busies herself with wrapping her legs around his back and digging her heels into his ass to get him to thrust deeper. She moans in a wanton fashion and arches her back to push her chest against his. It works, encouraging Mechanic to free her hands so that he can push her sports bra up and out of the way, squeezing and groping at her breasts and pinching her nipples. 

With her hands now free, Natasha takes a moment to enjoy the stings of pleasure and attention to her breasts. She gasps loudly when Mechanic bends down and takes one of her nipples in between his teeth, biting with just enough pressure to have her arching her back in genuine enjoyment. Still, it’s not enough and that aggravation comes back, distracting her from Mechanic’s cock hammering into her cunt and his tongue laving at her breasts. 

Bearing her teeth in frustration, Natasha bucks her hips and twists her body, sending her and Mechanic crashing onto the hard floor of his room. He cries out in surprise and then pain, cursing as his hands fly up to his head. There’s no blood, probably a bump, so Natasha doesn’t concern herself with it. Instead, assured that Mechanic isn’t about to die on her, Natasha rides his cock with a wild abandon, chasing her own relief with a care for Mechanic’s. But by his moaning and his hands that have returned to groping at her body, Natasha thinks he’s enjoying himself just fine. 

_But._

Natasha grabs Mechanic’s hands and leads them up to her throat, closing them around it while staring into his eyes. 

“Choke me, _**daddy.**_ ” She drops her voice to a low octave and purrs. 

Mechanic stutters for only a moment before applying a gentle pressure to her throat.

“Harder.” Natasha whispers as her cunt greedily swallows his cock again and again, faster and faster, growing so, _so_ close to release. 

Mechanic obeys, but Natasha slaps him when it still isn’t enough, “Choke me like you fucking mean it!” She spits. 

And finally, Natasha can’t breathe. Her hands instinctively clasp around Mechanics arms as her lungs burn, but she doesn’t stop riding him. It’s not until her vision is nearly swallowed by darkness that Mechanic releases her neck and that rush of fresh air drives Natasha over the edge. Her eyes roll back and her nails dig into Mechanic’s arms as she cries out with her orgasm. The clenching of her cunt on his engorged cock is enough to bring out Mechanic’s own orgasm and Natasha calls that a win. 

As they lay panting and covered in sweat on the floor, Mechanic strokes her back slowly. The gentle caressing helps ground Natasha and she allows herself to relax on top of him. His cock softening inside of her is wholly unpleasant, though. She groans and moves her hips just so and they both grunt when his cock pops out of her well-used cunt. 

“We should come up with a safe word.” Mechanic mumbles nonchalantly once they’ve caught their breath. 

Natasha freezes at that, anxiety beginning to bubble in her stomach.

“This is not happening again.” She tells him instead and then pats his chest, “Good sex though. You should be proud.”

Mechanic blinks at her in a stupidly cute way as she slowly pulls herself back onto unsteady feet. It takes her a few moments to adjust, her legs feel more like noodles than the thick muscle they look like, but she’s quick to replace her pants and readjust her bra. 

“Congrats on graduating.” Natasha leaves with a wave, managing not to stumble until his door closes behind her with a quiet hiss.

Natasha is particularly jealous of team Cockerel’s bay, though the colors are the same, the halls are a bit wider with a more pleasant view from the large windows. That and their allowed separate rooms and even have their own private arcade room. It’s not very large, but it has the latest games. Natasha can’t help herself from spending a few minutes poking around, contemplating playing a few rounds. She’s not really a gamer, but she has fond memories of a local arcade that her brother used to take her to once every blue moon.

Thankfully, their bay isn’t too far from her own team’s so it doesn’t take her long to get back. Unfortunately, she passes by Captain Orswell. She stops to salute him and chirp out a greeting, but his eyes are glued onto her neck. Sweat drips down her back. 

“Cadet.” He grumbles, his voice quieter than usual.

And then the Captain wanders off. 

Natasha lets out the breath she didn’t realize she’s been holding as soon as the Captain is out of sight. She knows that he hasn’t simply let the matter drop, clearly Mechanic left some marks that he noticed. She should have thought about that before-hand, but it’s too little, too late now. At the very least, it would seem that Captain Orswell has no intentions of taking away her day off.

Before heading to her own bunk, Natasha takes a quick shower and applies a minor ointment to the most prominent bruises that she can find. Along with a few scrapes that Natasha hadn’t noticed until her soap made them sting. She gives the time a passing glance before slipping into bed.

And then she wakes up roughly two hours later, covered in sweat with only vague images of her mother’s broken and bleeding face to remember the nightmare. She lets out a slow, carefully controlled exhale and takes in an equally slow inhale. And then again, and one more time before she stops trembling. The night is still too young; it’s only three a.m. But Natasha can’t bring herself to go back to sleep. 

Instead, she slowly rolls out of bed and creeps out of the bunkroom, peaking over her shoulder to make sure no one is awake or watching. She slinks out of the team bay, towards the cafeteria where a small skeleton-crew are chatting idly. There’s no one else here. 

After another deep breath, Natasha feels ready enough to pretend to be human and grabs a cup of coffee and slathers a bagel in cream cheese. The cafeteria crew watches her with bored eyes. It’s too cold to sit outside, unfortunately, especially since there’s heavy snow blocking out most of the lights around the base. Thankfully, there is a small lounge that’s deserted so Natasha makes herself comfortable on one of the leather chairs and clicks on the television, channel surfing until she comes across late-night cartoons.

The humor is mostly crude and the animation quality is poor, but it’s enough to take her mind off of things for a few hours. By the time the regularly scheduled kid’s shows start playing, Natasha has traded her coffee for a glass of orange juice and her bagel for a breakfast wrap. 

By the time she’s finished her second breakfast, Yadav has crept in and joined her, followed shortly by Chang and the vaguely familiar face of the A-Team’s Sasaki. 

A quiet and reserved woman with three children, each of which are pursuing a Master’s degree in similar fields. Her husband only a few short years ago to a terminal illness he’d suffered from for many years, giving her the freedom to pursue her own wants and dreams. She’s spoken with her children only once since joining Overwatch.

“Who’s your favorite?” Yadav whispers to her while leaning close so as not to disturb the others 

“The villain. Duh, they’re hot.” Natasha answers without really paying attention.

There is no current villain in the series, the main characters mostly work on social problems or their own weaknesses. 

“My favorite is the blue one. She reminds me of my son. He’s very stubborn and prideful, but good in his own ways.” Sasaki answers without turning away from the TV. 

“Oh, I like her too! But I think for favorites I say the Princess of Love!” Chang giggles, “She’s so sweet, but also smart and willing to fight for those she cares for.” 

“Hmmm,” Yadav rubs her chin while contemplating her own answer, “I’d say… The pink one. I’m jealous of her baking skills!” 

It’s pretty clear that this is their first time watching the show, and Natasha is sure that they’ve started somewhere in the middle of the show with how many names are tossed around. Besides, there are more important things to remember than the names of some obscure cartoon characters. 

“So which villain is it you liked?” Chang teases, Natasha thinks she’s seen this show before…

Natasha slowly draws her eyes away from the screen to meet Chang’s and blinks slowly, “All of them. I think I’d fuck all of them.” 

That earns her a burst of shocked laughter. 

“Like the one that gave you those bruises?” Yadav wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

Natasha chokes on her spit and pulls out her cellphone to peer at her reflection and spots the bruises blossoming up her jawline despite the ointment she applied earlier.

“I didn’t think that was the criteria for ‘favorite.’” Sasaki mumbles to herself, “Can I change my answer?”

“Nope!” Yadav claims loudly, “That’s who you end up with when you’re teleported to their world.” 

The women exchange a few more laughs before Vega wanders in, “What’s so funny in here?” 

“Oh,” Chang giggles again, “Come in! We’re watching this show, you’ll love it!” Chang is quick to rise to her feet, skipping over to Vega and drawing her in with a bright smile that the older woman clearly cannot resist. 

Natasha isn’t really sure how this ‘Girl’s day’ started, but it carries over well into the afternoon and ending when the sky begins to darken. They’ve binged through to the cliff-hanger ‘Part 1’ ending to the season of the show and snacked on chips and popcorn instead of proper meals, but Natasha can’t say that it was a waste. It was even nice. Plus, now Captain Orswell can’t say she’s avoiding her team. She just spent an entire day with them! That has to be enough, right? Probably not. 

At least she and Vega didn’t get into a fight, though their interactions were more forced than necessary. And she kept looking at her neck and then sneering when the others weren’t paying attention, but that’s fine. Vega is probably just jealous.

The group splits apart with promises to continue their Girl’s Day next week, same time, same place. Natasha checks her phone as she heads towards her team’s bay and sees a missed call from Olya. Ah, right. She needs to talk to her. 

Natasha diverts her path to one of the open private rooms that has a standard computer inside and boots it up with her Overwatch credentials. Thankfully, Olya is waiting by her phone when Natasha calls her back. 

“Pumpkin!” Olya cries loudly, smiling widely and looking generally happy to see Natasha.

“Hello, Olya. How have you been?” Natasha asks politely. 

“Oh, my spring-chicken, you don’t need to be so formal with Mama! I am well, abandoned by my sons and daughters, but I am well! And so happy to finally hear from you! You know, my Edgar calls me at least once a week and _promised_ me that I would get a call from my little lisichka! And yet here I am,” She carries the words out dramatically, “Waiting and _longing_ for the day she will call! I wither away!” 

Natasha rolls her eyes, “I’m sorry Olya-“

“Mama, please! Why do you hate me?” Olya interrupts her with crocodile tears. 

“…Mama… I’m sorry.” Natasha sighs as though she’s in a deep amount of pain, but Olya shouts happily.

“Oh, I’m so happy that you called! You are forgiven! Now tell me, little lisichka, how are you? Why don’t you call?” The tears are gone as quickly as they came and in their place are eyes that pierce through Natasha’s very soul.

Natasha shifts uncomfortably.

“I’m alright. Mending some sore wounds between teammates,” She admits, knowing Edgar would have said _something_ , “I think it’s going well. I got sick for a while, so that’s why I didn’t call. I lost my voice for a bit there.” An exaggeration, but one that played in her favor while the medicine she’d been prescribed worked its magic. 

“Well, I am glad to hear that things are going better for you. I have missed you so much, my dear. And I heard about what happened with my troublesome child. He told me his side of the story, now I want yours.” Though Olya’s voice is soft with love and affection, it is also firm with desire for the truth.

“Well, there’s not much to say. He wanted more from our relationship and I…” Natasha sighs and looks out of the window where the snow has slowed from it’s earlier heavy fall. 

“I didn’t want what he wanted.”

“Oh, my poor lisichka.” Olya whispers softly, “I know how it is to love without loving. I think you will find it not so easy to continue, that’s how I end up with three bratty children who abandon me!” Natasha laughs even though Olya is partly serious, but Olya gives her a motherly smile, “I do not blame you for ending things with Edgar, he should have made his wants clearer from the beginning! But I do blame you for your own heartbreak. I can see it from thousands of miles away, lisichka.” 

Natasha purses her lips at that, “I don’t know what you mean by that.” 

Olya gives her a look that tells her she doesn’t believe her, “Yes, you do. And when you accept that, I think you will know to find happiness. Because you deserve happiness.” She coos, and her eyes get a little misty.

Natasha’s eyes water a little as well, but she brushes away any tears before they can fall and clears her throat, “Enough about me, how are your brats doing?”

The mention of her children takes the mist from Olya’s eyes and puts in its place a mother’s cry of anger that has Natasha nodding along and taking Olya’s side when she finds out that Viktor has refused to visit from Harvard, and Natasha has to explain that Viktor is actually right since the plane tickets are so outrageously expensive this time of year. But she does agree that Viktor should at least call once a week, which he has neglected to do. 

Kayta, on the other hand, is vacationing with her new boyfriend in Thailand and didn’t invite Olya, who claims that she’s always wanted to go. Natasha tries to assure her that maybe she would rather go to Japan or South Korea? Olya then plans with her a visit to South Korea for the ‘Perfect facelift! Mama will look so young again!’. Of course, Natasha won’t be joining her, but she’ll be speaking with her more often instead. Olya forces her to promise and then they exchange their good-bye’s with Olya reminding Natasha that she should call her own parents as well.

Right. 

Just the thought of calling her parents makes Natasha’s stomach sink. She could hide her involvement with Overwatch for the rest of her damned life if she wanted to, but… She wants her parents to be proud of her. Wouldn’t they be proud knowing that she was out there, keeping the world safe from the dangers and horrors that took her brother? Overwatch was peaceful and belonged to no one country. They weren’t fighting for just anyone, they were fighting for the entire _world!_ That had to be different… right?

She spends ten minutes pacing about the room, gearing herself up to make the call. She checks the time-zones and marks the difference. While it is late here, it’s just around noon back home. Natasha thinks it’s a fine time to call, after all they might be too busy to answer and she could just leave them a short message. Yeah, that could work.

Before Natasha can talk herself out of it, the computer chimes happily at her and three dots appear on the screen as the call attempts to connect. It chimes quietly for several seconds, long enough that Natasha has relaxed, confident that she can just leave a message and play ‘phone-tag’ with her parents.

Her hopes are thrown to the ground, left to shatter into thousands of pieces when the call connects at the last second and her mother appears on the screen.

“Is that who I think it is?” Her mother cries enthusiastically, “My baby has finally called me? Oh, my sweet little girl look at you!” 

Natasha blushes and shrinks under her mother’s gaze as she gushes about how beautiful she looks.

“Oh my god, look at you! It’s been… eight _months!_ ” Her voice suddenly turns harsh and Natasha flinches, “Eight months?! Since the last time I heard from you? And it was an _e-mail?_ Who in the hell do you think you are, child?! You are so damn lucky that you aren’t home right now, or I would have slapped those cute freckles right off your face! What in the world makes you think it’s okay to vanish for _**eight. Months?!**_ And don’t you dare go thinking you can say you was on a job, cause I know damn well that no transportin’ job lasts no eight. _Damn. **Months.**_ ” As her mother lectures her about not contacting her in such a long amount of time, Natasha can hear her father coming through the front door of their house.

“Who are you talking to, dear?” He calls out when he can hear her mother shouting at her.

“Why don’t you come in here and find out? I know someone would be _very_ happy to see you!” Her mother turns her head to call back to her father and Natasha tries to shrink even further in herself. 

There’s no point in trying, as her father appears on the screen with his graying hair proudly on display, “Why is that my sweet little girl? How are you doing?” His voice is higher and gentler than her mother’s, but Natasha can see the anger growing in his eyes.

“Honey-bunch, how long has it been since our daughter last contacted us?” Her father turns to her mother who sticks her with a harsh glare.

“Eight. Months.” The words that have doomed her for an eternity. 

Natasha will make sure to get that engrained on her tombstone.

“And through e-mail?” That too, shall go on her tombstone.

Thankfully, the lecture only lasts about twenty minutes as they express their concern for her, and then come the demands of ‘Where are you?’ ‘Where have you been?’ ‘Why did it take so long for you to call?’. Natasha doesn’t point out that they, too, have the ability to call her whenever they please. Her grave is deep enough. 

“I’ve uh… Been traveling around, mostly. The service has been terrible so I wasn’t really able to call you. I’m doing good though, getting back into shape and such.” It’s a piss-poor lie, but she’s fed it to her parents so many times that they accept it without fuss.

“Have you been taking any pictures? Have you been keeping up with your health? You know, you have to keep up with vaccinations since you’re traveling around.” Her father gently reminds her.

“No pictures, sorry. I don’t think I’ll ever get into that habit,” Natasha scratches the back of her head and smiles apologetically, her father smiles for half a second and then his eyes narrow.

“Sweety-bunch, what’s that dirt on your neck?” Her father’s voice is deceptively sweet, making Natasha swallow nervously.

“Oh, uh. Training. You know?” Natasha’s own voice is obnoxiously high, strained with a lie that she has to force out.

“Mmmhhmmm.” Her mother chimes in with a look that tells Natasha that she won’t help her out of this one.

“Got a bit rough?” Natasha squeaks and hunches her shoulders to try to cover her neck as much as possible. 

“Darling, love of my life, fruit of my loins, if you keep lying to me I’m going to be very upset.” Her father sings with a tight smile and a promise of punishment in his eyes.

“I had sex, dad! Okay? I fucked a guy and it got a little rough!” Natasha throws her hands in the air in defeat, “I’m an adult, I can do things like that!” 

“Yes, hun, I know. But you should really do a better job of hiding the fact that you’re loose, because you’re making your mother and I look like we raised a prostitute.” The words cut and sting, but Natasha chews at her lip and reluctantly agrees.

She did a shitty job at covering the bruises. But it’s not like Natasha lead them to believe that she was a virgin. They’d discussed her sex life after she’d left the military and she brought home a random guy. Still, she doesn’t like that look of disappointment in her father’s eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Natasha crows, “It’s just been… an interesting week.” A week filled with extreme exercises and simulations and nightmares.

“As long as you’re being safe, I guess I can’t really ground you. Being so far away and all,” Her father pouts, “At least tell me you’re using condoms?”

Natasha rolls her eyes so hard it actually hurts for a moment, “Yes, of course I am. And I’ve had regular visits with doctors and all my check-ups so I’m being safe and healthy. I promise.” 

“Well that’s good to hear, pumpkin. But tell us about the places you’ve been to! It’s been so long since we heard your voice and seen your face, honey.” Her mother pleads with her.

“Right now I’m in Sweden, actually. The view is pretty picturesque, even with all the snow we’re getting here. But it covers everything in this beautiful blanket and it looks so wonderful when the sun hits it just right.” Natasha goes on to talk about the various wildlife she’s spotted and the people’s she’s met. 

Her teammates, mostly. Natasha explains them as friends she’s made, which puts bright, happy smiles on her parents’ faces. 

“Oh, I am so happy! You sound like you’re really happy, and that’s so nice to hear.” Her mother coos. 

“We were starting to get worried about you, after you took up this job. I’m so glad you’re finally happy again. It looks good on you.” Her father tells her with pride in his voice, and then his eye sticks onto her shoulder, “Oh, what is that? Overwatch? Are they selling merchandise now? You like those guys?” 

Her mother blinks and follows her father’s eyes to the Overwatch logo stitched into the shoulder of Natasha’s long-sleeve shirt, “Overwatch? Honey, I didn’t think you’d follow that crowd after getting out of the military.” Her voice is filled with disapproval.

Natasha swallows nervously as her eyes dart around the room, “Uhm, yeah. Overwatch. Well, they’re all about saving the world, you know? And that’s always kind of been important to me. It’s why I followed David…” Natasha trails off, trying not to feel guilty for the heartbroken look that passes over her mother’s face for a brief moment.

“And look where that got him.” Her mother mutters.

“Maria!” Her father shouts at her, “Don’t talk like that, you know what Dr. James said! We’ve got to remember him with love in our hearts, not with hate or anger.” Her father is quick to wrap her mother in a hug and she nearly disappears in his larger frame. 

Her mother and father share a tender moment that makes Natasha antsy and fidgety.

“You’re right. You’re right, I’m sorry.” Maria pulls away from her father with wet eyes and dabs at them with the sleeve of her shirt. Her father only gives her a look filled with love as he rubs her shoulder. 

She clears her turns her eyes back on Natasha, “So why are you wearing Overwatch merchandise? And when did they start selling that stuff anyway? I thought it was against some law or something to advertise themselves like that.” Her voice was filled with the paternal judgement that always made Natasha’s skin crawl.

It was like nothing she did was good enough.

Natasha can’t help but roll her eyes at her mother’s assumptions, “Well if it is or isn’t, Overwatch doesn’t sell clothes to the public anyway.” 

There’s a pause, and Natasha sucks in a breath and holds it. Her eyes widen as she stares at the wall behind the computer. 

“Is there something you wanted to tell us, sweetheart?” Her father’s voice is low and quiet, but there’s betrayal in it that makes his voice waver. 

Natasha doesn’t answer right away, instead letting how the breath she holds slowly, “Uhm… Yeah.” She tells the room. 

She doesn’t have to look at the screen to see the utter disappointment on her Mother’s face, something she’d never disguise from Natasha. She doesn’t even want to see the hurt in her father’s eyes. How could she have lied to them for so long?

“Well?” Maria says. 

One word, that’s it, filled with so much expectation. A demand, an order, not a question. One that _would_ be answered. 

Natasha lets her eyes slide back down to meet her mother’s and pushes everything they make her feel down deep until she can’t really feel anything. Until the disapproval melts into warm brown eyes, open and staring at her own. 

“I joined Overwatch and have officially earned the rank of Cadet about three weeks ago. About six and a half months after going through training.” Natasha tells the computer screen in a monotone, but clear voice. 

Her parent’s expression pinch curiously.

“What?” Her mother is the first to recover. Her voice is a scant whisper that the program has a difficult time picking up. 

“I joined Overwatch.” Natasha tells them again.

“What were you _thinking_ \- no, _were_ you even thinking? You couldn’t have! How could you have possibly been using your brain to make such a decision and not even talk to us about it! Did you even stop to think about how _we_ , your _loving_ parents, the people who brought you into this world, would feel? We already lost your brother and you expect us to just sit back and wait to lose you too?! Do you even know the amount of pain you just threw onto your father and I?! Do you even _care?_ ” Maria snaps, her hands gesticulating wildly as she rants, occasionally looking at or tapping her husband. 

Her father only stares, not at her, but at a far-off memory. A memory of David, probably. The day they heard the news. 

“Of course I care about you.” Natasha tells them, her brows drawn together at the accusation. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“That is a damn. Good. Question. Why the hell don’t you care about your father and I? Are you really going to put us through the pain of losing another child? Do you think David would want you to throw your life away like this? What the hell do you think he would tell you, right now? Let me tell you, he would say, ‘Natasha. Who in the hell do you think you are, wasting your life in war and hate instead of surrounding yourself with people who love you?’. He would say, ‘I can’t bear the thought of losing my baby sister so I _know_ it would kill my parents to lose you.’. What else do you think he would say?” Maria slams her fist on the table her computer rests on. 

The question brings back a memory of David, where he and Natasha spoke about their futures. Natasha had admitted that she didn’t want her life in the military to end. David had shrugged and said that as long as she was in, so was he. That was the only reason he stayed in the military, to watch out for her like she watched out for him. And look where that got him? Look at how she failed him. 

“He would tell me how dumb I was for lying.” Natasha whispers to herself. The program stutters and distorts her voice, but her parents understand what she said, “But he would tell me to do whatever made me happy.” She says this louder, clearer and knowing it to be true. 

“What made you happy got him killed!” Maria shouts.

Natasha flinches, winces, “Yes.” 

“How many more people are gonna get killed just so you can be _happy?_ Are you _happy_ that people are dying for your selfish ass?” Despite Maria’s harsh words, her husband does nothing to stop them, only frowns at his shoes. 

“I’m happy because I’ll be _keeping_ people from dying.” Natasha says, trying to keep her voice clear.

“How can you keep anyone from dying if you got your own brother killed? All he did was love you!” Maria’s voice breaks as tears fall from her eyes and Natasha blinks at her. 

“I’ll be better.” She says simply, remembering her first partner, shot in the back and lying in a puddle of their own blood. 

She’s managed to keep Edgar alive, hasn’t she?

“Natasha June Blakhart, if you do not quit Overwatch and come back home where you belong, you will never be welcomed back!” Maria threatens. 

“If I come back home, how long do you think I’ll be able to survive.” Natasha says after a pause, considering her mother’s words.

“And just what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Maria hisses.

“If I come back home, how long before I put a bullet in my head? Or a rope around my neck? How long before I throw myself off of the tallest building I can find?” Natasha asks with dead eyes. 

Her parents blanch at that, “What the hell are you talking about?” 

“I was miserable back home. I wanted to die every minute of every day that I lived there.” Natasha tells them, “You knew that, you pushed me to see a therapist, but I still couldn’t handle it.” 

“And we’ll take you to see a better one, one who can actually give you the help that you _clearly_ need! We just want you to be happy and _safe!_ ” Maria vows. 

Natasha grits her teeth and grasps at her hair, tugging until it’s too painful, “Why don’t you ever listen to me?” She asks them, “You don’t care about what would make _me_ happy you only care about what would make _you_ happy! Or what you _think_ would have made David happy! You didn’t know anything about him! He hated being at home, everyone ostracized him and expected him to fit _their_ mold and not his! None of you ever cared about what _he_ wanted!” 

It was true, David had always confided to her his hopes and dreams. He had wanted to be an artist, but their parents never approved. How would he make money to support himself? He wanted to be a teacher, but still they didn’t approve. Did he even know how to handle a child? Would he be willing to work for next to nothing for someone else’s kid? David wanted to protect and study the environment, but who was hiring now? How would he get a job in this economy? 

David wanted to protect his home. He lost his best friend during the Omnic Crisis and wanted to protect what he couldn’t. David joined the military and Natasha followed after him, because if no one else would support his dreams, Natasha would.

Maria’s expression crumbles and she buries herself into her husband, who wraps his arms around her and holds her protectively to him, “I hope you’re happy.” The call ends.

Natasha stares at the blank screen as her own tears wet her face. She stares for nearly an hour as everything she’d said and everything they had said whirls through her mind. What the hell was she thinking? Why didn’t she just lie? Why didn’t she come up with some piss-poor excuse that her parents would gobble up because they never wanted to know the truth? Why did she have to throw that in their faces? 

What the hell was she thinking? 

Natasha spends another hour pacing around the room, wondering if she would ever speak to her parents again. Probably, eventually… at some point in the distant future, after they’ve forgiven her for lying. About everything. 

She’ll just wait until they call her, it’ll be fine. They just need time to cool down is all, maybe continue talking to their therapist, realize they overreacted? Or not. Maybe if she uses her vacation time to visit, they won’t even answer the door, or they’ll call the police on her for trespassing. They’ll never speak to her again, she’ll never hear their voice or see them. She’s broken their relationship apart, they probably don’t even love her anymore, this was the last straw for them!

“Stop it!” Natasha hisses, pulling at her hair again and breathes deeply.

It’ll be fine. It will be _fine._

What time is it? Natasha’s eyes dart around the room until they fall on the analog clock glowing with red digits; 8:23 p.m. Shit it’s late, Natasha scrubs her face, knowing her teammates will all be headed to bed early tonight to get ready for tomorrow’s training. If she showed up late, they would question her and there was no way in hell she’d tell them anything. 

They didn’t need to know about her minor breakdown. She’ll just wash her face first and then head to bed, say she lost track of time while making a few personal calls. That’s all they needed to know. 

However, as Natasha exits the private room, still rubbing her face, she runs smack-dab into Captain Orswell, who looks her over with concern and then glares at the prominent bruises on her neck and jaw. 

“Looking for stress relief?” He sneers. 

Natasha swallows nervously as she salutes him, “N-no, Captain! Just… headed to bed.”

The Captain rolls his eyes at that, “Don’t even try to hide it, Cadet. One, I’ve already seen the bruises and have _already_ heard about your little rendezvous with Cockerel’s Team. Two, you look like you’re about to fall apart. Come with me, I’ll show you a better way to work the stress out of your system.” 

The Captain turns around and doesn’t look back at Natasha, simply walking down the hallway at a leisurely pace. Natasha doesn’t hesitate as she follows him, wondering what hell he has in store for her.

 

 

Hell is apparently running. Around the entire base. Which at first is fine, Natasha has built up a fine bit of stamina and enjoys the light jogging pace that Captain Orswell has her do. Plus he joins her, running around the base is something he does on a near-daily basis. Unfortunately, that means that Captain Orswell can run for far longer than Natasha can and as soon as she begins to lag behind, his mood flips, from completely calm and even a little amicable, to a raving lunatic barking at her heels with threats of giving her worse bruises than the ones on her back.

“If I get a hold of you, I’m gonna wring my hands around your neck and throttle you!” Captain Orswell screams. 

While the logical side of Natasha is absolutely certain that Captain Orswell would do no such thing, the rest of Natasha knows that her punishment for allowing Captain Orswell to catch up to he will be so much worse. So, Natasha breaks out into a panic fueled sprint, ignoring her burning lungs and the darkness creeping in from the corner of her eyes until she loses her footing and falls into that darkness.

 

 

 

“You ran her too hard,” Says an admonishing voice that pulls Natasha out of a dreamless sleep, “But she’ll be fine with a bit of rest and if she is up to it, she’ll be back to training without missing a thing.” 

“Ah, that’s good to hear.” That’s definitely Captain Orswell, but he doesn’t sound the least bit worried about her, “Can you do anything about those ugly bruises?” 

Someone clicks their tongue, “I would, but we’re in a bit of a shortage until the next shipment comes in…” Their voice fades away as sleep reclaims Natasha. 

When she next wakes, with a gasp and a jerk, it’s to a medical room with dimmed lights and six other beds, only two of which are occupied. Natasha rubs her eyes as she struggles to recall what woke her up, but nothing comes to mind. She does feel more rested than she has in the last week. Maybe adding running to her routine would be good. 

As she sits up, she realizes that someone was kind enough to take her shoes off, but left her in her clothes. One quick sniff has her cringing away from her shirt, she reeks of sweat. With a deep breath, Natasha stretches until she feels more awake before grabbing her shoes and hopping to her feet. She almost immediately falls as her legs feel more like jello, but she manages to stay upright. The other two occupants are still sleeping, so she does her best to be as quiet as possible.

She spares them a short glance to make sure she hasn’t disturbed them yet, and then wobbles carefully out of the room. Thankfully, there’s a set of chairs against the wall so she can sit down and pull her shoes on. Further down the hall, one of the nurses is approaching with sleep in their eyes. They raise a brow at her, look at their clipboard and then gesture for her to follow them. 

“Captain Orswell told me you’d probably want to leave as soon as you woke up,” They comment, and Natasha recognizes their voice. The same nurse who’d scolded Captain Orswell. 

“Yeah,” Natasha says, “Figure I’ll rest when I’m dead, right?” She attempts to joke, but the nurse simply gives her a dry look. 

“Right. Well, your vitals are fine. You did seem to be running a low-grade fever when you were brought in, but when I scanned you an hour ago you were alright. Remember to drink plenty of fluids today. If your legs are sore, I suggest compression wrap and plenty of gentle stretching. Take a hot shower or bath before bed to help the muscles relax. If the pain is too much, come see us and we’ll check for any damage that might have occurred during your impromptu marathon.” 

Natasha nods quietly at the nurse’s instructions and mentally marks where the compression wrap is back in her Team Bay. She can’t help but walk awkwardly as her legs protest the movement and she hopes the compressing wrap will help. 

“The current time is 4:45 a.m. so you should have plenty of time to join your team before training begins. Have a good day.” The nurse tells her as they hold the door open to the familiar waiting room.

Captain Orswell is there, sitting with one leg slung over the other and reading a magazine that has Overwatch’s Strike Commander on the front page. He looks up as she nears him, and she swears she sees a faint smirk on his face, but it’s gone in a second.

“Good morning, Cadet.” He greets her.

“Good morning, Captain.” She chirps with a salute. 

“How are your legs feeling?” The Captain asks as he sets the magazine down and stands, crossing his arms as he does so. 

Natasha hesitates for a moment, “They feel like they’ve been well-worked, Sir.” 

Captain Orswell gives her an approving nod and then walks out of the room, Natasha trails behind him, “We’ve got plenty of wrap back at the bay, you’ll be fine.” 

 

 

 

One quick shower and comfortably wrapped legs later and Natasha is stretching in the locker room while the rest of her teammates arrive. She gets a few odd looks and a few concerned looks. Vega laughs when she sees her. 

“Go on a nice jog there, _Buddy?_ ” She taunts with a smirk and then slaps Natasha’s back right in the middle of a particularly nasty bruise and cut combo. 

The air in Natasha’s lungs is pushed out with the shock of pain and she freezes. When the hell did Mechanic even scratch her back?

With gritted teeth, Natasha turns to glare at Vega, “It was great.” She wheezes at her. 

Vega’s smirk widens into a full smile at that, but she leaves Natasha alone. Apparently, she got whatever torment she wanted out of Natasha. 

“Alright, now that we’re all here, I’ve got great news!” Captain Orswell seems oddly cheery today as he addresses them, “We’ve got our first mission assignment. Unlike the rest of our missions, you are all assigned to this one. Strike Commander Morrison will debrief us in three days’ time as to what exactly we will be doing, as is tradition for your first mission with Overwatch. Until then, we will be training and preparing for this mission.” 

Thompson immediately raises his hand as soon as the Captain is finished talking.

“Yes, Cadet Thompson?” He barks.

“What will our mission be?” Thompson asks with barely contained excitement.

“At ease, Cadet, or I’ll pull you off this mission faster than you can break your leg.” Captain Orswell warns and Thompson noticeably deflates, “This will be an escort mission. Nothing too fancy, we certainly aren’t expecting any trouble to occur during the mission, but I want you to be ready for anything! Understood?”

“Yes, Captain!” The team barks. 

“Good! Today, we will be practicing an escort scenario in which three members chosen at random will be designated as ‘Omnics’. The rest of you are to escort me to the chow-hall and back for lunch and dinner. You will be given until lunch time to prepare for your roles.” The Captain pulls out his tablet from his locker and taps the screen a few times before turning it around to show them.

 

**ESCORT TEAM**  
EDGAR BELIKOV - CHARLES ERA - HUNTER THOMPSON - MIGUEL VERN - ZAHIRA YADAV  
OMNICS  
NATASHA BLAKHART - YUKE CHANG- ALESSANDRA VEGA

 

Natasha frowns tightly at being put on Vega’s team, which she doesn’t seem to happy about either. At the very least, Chang makes a quiet noise of excitement and bumps Natasha’s shoulder playfully. That breaks a smile onto Natasha’s face, at least working with Chang will be pleasant. 

“Now that you know your team, here are the rules: First day will be tag. If I’m tagged I’m dead and the Escort Team has failed. Anyone on the Escort Team who is tagged is out for a total of ten minutes while another teammate tends to their wounds. Three tags and you’re done for the day. As for the Omnics, a tag takes you out for five minutes, but you have unlimited tags. The simulation ends once I am escorted back here after I’m finished with dinner. And yes, that does mean tags can still happen during lunch and dinner.” Captain Orswell explains. 

Those on the Escort Team tense at that, looking a little agitated that the exercise doesn’t break for food. Meanwhile, Vega is smirking at Vern and raising her brows in a taunting manner. Vern simply rolls his eyes and ignores her.

“Tomorrow, there will be a new set of Omnics and a new set of rules. And the day after that, and the day after that. And then we will meet at room 035 at exactly 0400 sharp. Got it?” 

“Yes, sir!” 

“Good, you have until after breakfast to plan. And then the Escort team must be ready to go.”

“Yes, sir!” Chirps the Escort team, ready and excited to begin.

Vega is quick to pull Chang and Natasha into the training room and away from the enemy team, “Alright, we’re going to need a plan. They’ve got a good set of eyes on their team and it’ll be difficult to take them by surprise.” 

Chang purses her lips for a moment, and then her expression brightens, “Why not do nothing until they let their guard down? And then hit them when they least expect it!”  
Vega hums at that, thinking it over while Natasha chimes in, “It would have to be sometime after lunch, but before the final escort to dinner. They’ll be too on edge then.”  
“Right…”

“What the hell does Captain Orswell do during his free time?” Vega asks when they’ve gone quiet. 

Chang and Natasha exchange confused looks, but Vega is staring intently at Natasha.

“Come on, Blakhart, you told me yourself that you’re a creepy asshole who stalks people. You must have something on the Captain.” Natasha’s frown returns in full force when Vega snickers. 

“Surprisingly, the Captain is a pretty private man. There really wasn’t much aside from his career that I could find.” Natasha answers, much to Chang’s surprise, “And no, Chang, I don’t actually stalk people.” 

“But if you did that would make this easier!” Chang complains, causing Natasha’s eyes to widen in shock.

She hadn’t expected Chang to be fine with her potential-stalking habits.

“Okay, so he’s a work-a-holic. That means he’s probably doing paperwork and turning in reports.” Vega begins tapping her foot as she thinks.

Natasha blinks at that, “Oh, he reports to Strike Captain Amari. All the Captains do. He likes to turn in his reports before dinner and his own office is a few doors away from our locker room.” 

Chang and Vega stare at Natasha before they both share a wicked smile. 

“No one else knows this?” Vega asks.

“Edgar might, but everyone else gives me the impression that Captain Orswell manages to stay off their radar.” Natasha confirms.

Chang curses at that, “If Edgar does know, then he knows _you_ know! He won’t keep that from the others.” 

“So, we operate under the assumption that, they too, know Captain Orswell’s general schedule and they know that we know.” Natasha says and the other nod in agreement.

“And if they don’t know, that’ll make this easier for us. But the question is, how are we going about this?” Vega’s question prompts a lengthy discussion that they carry to breakfast, taking a table outside despite the cold weather.

“What the hell is with you and the cold?” Vega spits out once they’ve solidified their plan. 

She’s shivering despite the thick, thermal jacket and scarf that she’s pulled tightly around herself. Chang isn’t much better, but she has a hat and her hood up as well. 

“I’m a winter baby. I was born in the cold. Molded by it. You were merely adopted by the cold.” Natasha retorts.

Vega rolls her eyes harshly, “Figured you’d be into that train-wreck of a superhero’s movies.” 

“Oh yeah, who’s your favorite?” Natasha growls. 

“I’d probably pick the Scarlet Witch if I had to.” Vega gloats.

“Yeah, you’d get along with crazy, wouldn’t you?” Natasha mumbles and then quickly asks Chang who her favorite superhero is before Vega can spit out whatever insult was on the tip of her tongue. 

“Hmmm, I don’t know. I don’t read comics.” Chang shrugs, “Would you mind if we moved inside now? It’s so cold!” She shakes extra hard for emphasis, making Natasha and Vega laugh before agreeing.

They head inside just as Captain Orswell has gotten up to leave, prompting to Escort Team to quickly scramble around him while making threatening gestures at the trio. 

Vega simply waves at them with a sickeningly sweet smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom! Best sex scene I've ever written. I feel so proud :'D Please like, comment and subscribe if you enjoyed it. Also, Chapter ten hit thirty pages and still isn't anywhere near done so I chopped a small chunk off and called it finished. 
> 
> Now I have to finish Chapter eleven, but at this rate it might also be chopped in half.


	9. Playtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teamwork, teamwork and more teamwork.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No! I'm not dead or done with the story, I promise! I'm just really shitty with updates and this fucking chapter (11) is giving me a hard time :'D Also work is super fucking stressful right now because people are assholes. Also, I'm so sorry for the short chapter! I didn't realize how short it was, but don't worry! The next two will be long to make up for it :D

It’s frighteningly easy to psyche the Escort team out when you just casually happen to be exactly where their escort decides to ‘randomly’ go. By their surprised expressions, Natasha would gather that it’s safe to assume that they actually have no idea what Captain Orswell’s schedule is, nor is he sharing it with them. 

They’re actually outside of the base, in a small town a few miles to the east. Following them here wasn’t as difficult as Natasha was hoping, and figuring out where Captain Orswell was actually headed wasn’t too hard. He really liked taking the most roundabout way to get somewhere. His chosen destination is a decently sized café that isn’t quite packed, but definitely isn’t empty. They have good coffee here, Natasha thinks as she winks at a glaring Vern. Captain Orswell seems vaguely surprised as well, but he only gives her a cursory glance before ordering his own food. 

The Escort team surrounds him in a box-like formation, with the two ‘weakest’ escorts having one additional member on their side. That would be Edgar and Thompson, who have Era on their side as extra support. 

Natasha pretends to be pretending to be more interested in her tablet than in her current target. In reality, she keeps getting distracted by the files she’s digging through in Overwatch’s public files. When she remembers to, she’ll glance up, lift her hand to ‘brush away a stray hair’ while muttering to herself. That always makes the Escort team tense up and glare angrily at her, leaning over to whisper theories of what she might have said and who she said it to.

There’s no comm unit in her ear or stuck to the inside of the sleeve. Natasha has been texting her teammates periodically instead. They have the ambush ready to go when Captain Orswell decides to leave the café. 

Just as Natasha stumbles upon an oddly named file buried deep in Overwatch’s servers, Captain Orswell gets up from his seat. With a silent curse, Natasha sends out the warning text to her team and quickly shuts down the tablet and stows it away. She’s up and out of her seat just in time to trail after the Escort team. Chang sends her a text saying that they’re ready to go and to be prepared to make her move. Natasha adjusts her shoulder-bag so it sits out of the way of her legs and tightens the strap to keep it from flailing too much. 

Out on the streets of the town with people rushing around for lunch, Natasha keeps a good distance from the Escort team, but she can see them looking around for her. 

Edgar, of course Edgar, keeps catching her and moving so that he is in between her and Captain Orswell. Natasha is agitated at this, but not because he’s blocking her way. Instead, she’s trying to herd him into the right position, which is tricky considering that she has to weave around the lunch crowd. The Escort team doesn’t have this problem, being in their Overwatch uniforms and surrounding Captain Orswell, people naturally move out of the way, but then immediately funnel back into the condense crowd once they’re past them.

Natasha glances around and spots Chang lowering a pair of expensive looking sunglasses, she winks at Natasha before raising her sunglasses and moving from the metal tablet just outside of a pastry shop. Vern spots her, communicating this with the rest of the team as they move into a tighter formation around Captain Orswell. Natasha can practically feel his disgruntled eye-roll. 

The Escort team watches her walk in the opposite direction of them, leading their eyes back on Natasha. She can see their nervous anticipation and uses the crowd to her advantage to dip in and out of their sight. Natasha is tall for an American woman, but here in Switzerland most of the men tower over her. Her antics cause just enough disruption in the Escort team to leave their guard wide open. 

Just as they pass by a narrow alleyway in between stores, Vega flies out, throwing her body into Era’s with enough force to push him into Vern, managing to take them both out. Yadav and Thompson tag Vega just as Captain Orswell calls them ‘Out’. 

Edgar had moved to assist them, momentarily forgetting about Natasha and allowing her to rush past him to lightly tap Captain Orswell’s shoulder just as Chang catches back up to them and tags Edgar for good measure.

The crowd around them quickly disperses and moves away, some with startled yelps and others with full-blown screams. 

Captain Orswell turns to take in the Escort team and then to the Omnics with a raised brow, “Good bloody job, over half the team is dead and you failed the mission.” He sounds anything but pleased and there’s a snarl growing in his expression. 

Vega gets off of Era and Vern with a proud smirk, but is kind enough to help them off the ground. Vern took the brunt of the fall and has a scrape on his arm, but he’s fine.  
“Congratulations, Team Omnic. You win. Pick someone to replace you on the Escort team. We’re doing this again.” His words and stiff and firm and the Escort team looks properly chastised despite having been given no lecture. 

Vega picks Vern to replace her, Chang picks Thompson and Natasha chooses Era. Era seems vaguely surprised and even mutters about how he thought Natasha would have chosen Edgar to replace her. 

“It would have been way too easy then. Strategically, it would be a sound choice, but isn’t this exercise more about learning to adapt to sudden changes and overcoming impossible odds?” Natasha asks. 

Era preens at that, “Then you made the right choice.” He puffs out his chest in pride before gathering his team and leading them away. 

“Cadet Blakhart is correct in what this exercise is about. I expect another tactic that the first Omnic team showed and I expect the new Escort team to learn from the previous team’s mistakes.” Captain Orswell gives them all an expectant glare. 

“Yes, Sir!” They reply.

 

 

 

One hour of planning against several different ambush scenarios has the Escort team feeling confident, but Captain Orswell has refused to tell them anything about his plans for the day. Natasha doesn’t ask him if he’s heading towards Captain Amari’s office to turn in his report, sure that he’ll change his mind and his schedule to throw them off. Instead, she lets Edgar and Yadav in on where their possible destinations are.

The first one, isn’t quite shocking. After walking around the town for an hour and doing some light shopping, Captain Orswell returns to base and makes a beeline for his room. Edgar is swift to jump in front of the Captain, preventing him from entering.

“We need to check the room first, Sir. Please be patient.” Edgar stands just a few inches below Captain Orswell, but he holds himself with such confidence that Captain Orswell gives him a nod and steps back.

Edgar and Yadav check out the room while Natasha, Chang and Vega keep an eye out for the Omnic team. 

“Vern is definitely going to push for a last-minute attack.” Vega tells them.

“Thompson will make sure that we won’t see them.” Chang advises. 

“And Era will be sure to keep us on our toes. With him leading, I’m not sure that anything of our predictions will be spot on.” Natasha says and the others contemplate this. “Edgar needs to be our eyes or we’ll never see them coming. Honestly I’m surprised he didn’t see you coming, Vega.” 

Vega frowns at that in mild offense, while Chang pipes up, “He wasn’t in the spotter’s position. That was Yadav.” 

“Room’s clear!” Yadav shouts.

“Belikov, get out here and watch our six!” Vega shouts back. 

Edgar is out with a curious expression, but Vega brushes past him into Captain Orswell’s room. Natasha contemplates following Vega into the room, but they’ll need more people outside of the room than inside. 

“What the hell are you doing on my bookcase, Cadet?” Captain Orswell shouts.

Chang has to cover her mouth to keep from a shock of laughter while Edgar lets out a guffaw. Natasha bites her lip and scans the hallway, but sees nothing interesting. 

Whatever Vega’s reason is isn’t heard, probably to get the best angle for a sneak attack. A smart move.

“Incoming. Left side.” Edgar says just before Vern pops into the hallway at a sprint. 

Chang is quick to meet him, ducking under a tag, twisting her body to slap the back of Vern’s head. Vern, playing the act of a dead Omnic, drops to the ground with a groan. Era pops out right after Vern, but Chang is prepared and hits him in the stomach when she pivots back around. 

“Didn’t have to hit so hard.” Era grumbles. 

“Where the hell is Thompson?” Natasha asks, glaring back down the right end of the hallway. 

“We’ve gotta move!” Edgar calls back out into the room.

“Alright, let’s get going then.” Captain Orswell meanders out of the room at a slow pace with Yadav and Vega following behind him, both looking agitated with his pace. 

“Thompson is still unaccounted for and we have three minutes left for them.” Natasha informs them. 

“Got ya!” Edgar cries as he trips Thompson just as he rounds a corner into the hallway.

“That counts, Cadet.” Captain Orswell tells them with a faint smirk, “Good job team.” 

“Belikov, you keep an eye out. Chang with me. Yadav, Blakhart, you’re on the offensive.” Vega quickly takes charge. 

“Where are we headed? Maybe we can take shortcuts?” Chang suggests. 

“Captain Orswell usually heads to Captain Amari’s office about this time,” Natasha blurts out before Captain Orswell can speak.

His eyes go wide and he stares at her with an incredulous look, “Have you been following me, Cadet?” He snarls, causing his scars to stand out. 

“Of course not, we just happen to follow the same alternating routes on a near daily basis.” Natasha replies calmly, “Did you know that you take more right turns than you do left? Considering that you’re left-handed, it’s a bit strange.”

There’s a moment of tense silence that Natasha knows she’s going to pay for later, but then there’s that defiant look in the Captain’s eyes that she was hoping for.

“Alright smartass.” He hisses underneath his breath and then turns and walks at a brisk pace that isn’t quite a run. 

He’s not headed towards Captain Amari’s office, which complicates things a bit, but he’s moving which is good. He leads them around taking more left turns than right, possibly out of spite, until they reach the Gym. It’s a large room closer to the Captains’ Bay that’s filled with a plethora of exercising equipment and several large mats along with a wall dedicated to full length mirrors. There are plenty of people using the equipment at the moment, none seem bothered by their presence.

The room is too open and too large to properly defend, not with how aggressive the Omnic team is behaving. 

“How long does the Captain usually work out for?” Vega asks in a loud whisper that Captain Orswell is sure to hear. 

“His workouts usually last two to three hours, depending on what muscle groups he’s targeting. He’s starting with triceps, so he’ll go through arms, back, chest and core today. Three hours at most.” Natasha answers, keeping an eye on the door. 

Captain Orswell snarls at that in the middle of a curl with some heavy looking weights and lets them drop down with a thud that reverberates around the room, drawing the attention of other agents and captains working out. He then picks the weights up and roughly puts them back on the rack. He seems to be contemplating what he’s going to do next when he turns around and heads for the shower.

“What do you think? Thirty minutes?” Edgar pipes up with a snarky grin. 

Captain Orswell shouts back, “Five!” and continues on his way.

“He’ll be fine in the showers, there’s no other entry way in. I think we should hide in plain sight, just in case the enemy peeks in here.” Yadav suggests.

“Close to the doors, then. Be ready for when the Captain is finished.” Vega orders.

They disperse quickly, mingling in with others who are going through their exercises. Natasha spots a familiar face, Mechanic, waving her over. She frowns at that and contemplates ignoring him, but he might make a scene and blow her cover. Her eyes dart over to Vega who is pointedly making ‘shooing’ motions towards Mechanic. Her frown deepens, but she wanders over to Mechanic anyway. Besides, Mechanic is settled right next to the path of the showers so that puts her in a good defensive position. 

“You guys running through practice? Escorting?” Mechanic asks good naturedly when Natasha is close enough. 

He’s situated himself on a weight bench with the bar weighted to two-hundred and seventy-five pounds. Natasha decides to spot him to blend in. 

“Yeah, getting into shape for your last mission as a Cadet?” Natasha asks, keeping a careful eye on Mechanic’s form as he begins. 

“Yup.” He grunts out, adjusts his hips and legs while Natasha holds the bar steady for him as he gets comfortable. 

“Do you know what you’ll be doing?” 

“Not yet,” Mechanic begins to breeze through the exercise, “We’ll be debriefed on Monday. I was thinking before then, maybe you’d like to get lunch with me?” 

Natasha purses her lips at that, and when she fails to answer, Mechanic glances at her and quickly backtracks. 

“I meant as friends!” He amends, his arms faltering and the bar leaning too heavily to one side. 

Natasha grabs a hold of the bar and helps lead it back onto it’s rest while Mechanic watches her. On one hand, Natasha would rather cut Mechanic off and never speak to him again. On the other hand, it would be good to be close to someone who could tell her more about what to expect… 

“Just friends, you say?” Natasha keeps the bar on it’s rest when Mechanic tries to lift it away and resume his workout. 

“Yeah. And if you just _happen_ to want to fuck me again, I wouldn’t say no.” Mechanic hedges around the truth in a way that’s almost endearing. 

It reminds her of when Edgar and her first got together. 

“We’re never sleeping together again.” She tells him in a deadpan voice. 

Mechanic rolls his eyes at that, “Yeah I figured. Lunch is still on the table though.” 

Natasha lets him continue, her eyes darting to the door when it slides open. Vern saunters into the room, his gaze drifting almost lazily about the room. Natasha leans back so that the two agents working out beside her and Mechanic block Vern’s view of her. She watches him from the corner of her eye as he makes a beeline for the showers, and then smirks when Yadav darts out from in between two unoccupied ellipticals to punch his shoulder. Vern shouts loudly and rubs his shoulder as he sits down, but Era and Thompson charge into the room at his cry of pain. 

Yadav is good at dodging, but Era is better at feinting and Chang tags him just after he manages to land a hit on Yadav. 

“Excuse me,” Natasha mutters as Mechanic puts his bar back on its rest. 

Thompson tags Chang with a light slap across her shoulders and charges on to the showers while Vega and Edgar grumble about Chang and Yadav. He’s headed right for Natasha and he doesn’t even realize it. Natasha waits until Thompson is just close enough and then reaches out and grabs him by the shoulders, pulling him away from a freshly showered Captain Orswell. 

“Hm, another attack thwarted. Good job, team. But the rest of your crew is taken out. They’re too hurt to move.” Captain Orswell tells them with a disappointed frown.

Natasha looks at her team, four down for ten minutes, and then looks at the enemy team who are tensed and ready to move in five. 

“What are you gonna do, Cadet?” The Captain asks. 

It’s more of a taunt than a question. The Omnic team will target her hard in order to get her down and she won’t be able to tag all three of them before they hit her. She’s not that good at hand-to-hand combat. But with her team looking at her with hope in their eyes, she can’t help but make a final stand. She can probably tag Thompson out before Vern or Era reach her, and if she can just keep out of Era’s reach long enough to tag Vern out, she could stand a better chance against Era.

Captain Orswell moves to sit on a bench and make himself comfortable, which changes Natasha’s plans since he’s moved himself to be equally distant from Vern, Era and Thompson. By the time the five minutes are up, the entire Gym is watching with baited breath. 

Natasha steels herself, spreading her feet out and bending her knees to lower her body closer to the ground. She brings her fists up to protect her face. Thompson is faster than Vern and Era, so Natasha is prepared for when he reaches her first, she’s not prepared when Era makes it to her before she can fully hop out of the way of Thompson’s tackle and catches her foot with his and sends her toppling to the ground. Vern walks casually over to Captain Orswell and taps his shoulder.

There’s a few cheers and a few boos from their impromptu audience as Captain Orswell looks at them all with disappointment. 

“Both teams, dead and missioned failed on day one.” He spits, “I hope you all learned from this experience.”

He doesn’t wait for them as he stomps out of the room. No one on their team is happy, trading frowns and looks of disappointment. But Mechanic walks over and offers his hand to Natasha to help her up.

“You guys didn’t do so bad,” Mechanic says as Natasha accepts his offered hand.  
“We failed.” Vega snarls in response.

The rest of the Gym going go back to their workouts and mind their own business. 

“We should follow the Captain.” Yadav grabs their attention before heading out after the Captain. 

The rest trail after her out of the Gym, but Captain Orswell is no where to be seen. 

“What the fuck?” Edgar curses as they look around and see no sign of their captain. 

“This has gotta be another test.” Thompson suggests and then looks to Natasha.

“Look, he switched up his schedule. My best guess is that he’s on his way to Strike Captain Amari’s office to give his report. That or he’s back in our locker room or training room.” Natasha shakes her head as she explains. 

As it turns out, Captain Orswell was in their locker room, waiting patiently for them while reading something on his tablet. The Captain doesn’t acknowledge their presence until after he’s finished and his tablet is put away, but they stand at the ready for their next orders, knowing that the Captain is unhappy. 

“I understand that an escort mission doesn’t sound like much and that you may be disappointed, but it isn’t just a mission. It’s a test from Overwatch itself,” Captain Orswell’s voice is low and firm, “It’s a test to ensure that you are not here for yourselves, but for everyone! For the world! Even if that means doing the lowest, most degrading job out there. And you made it passed our first round of training. This is the second. Your final mission before your promotion to Agent will be the last. If you want to continue being a member of Overwatch, then you need to step up your game, Cadets. I’m not the only one you need to impress. You need to impress the Strike Commander, his second in command and his third. Currently, none of you are anywhere near that.”  
Captain Orswell allows them a moment to absorb his lecture, eyeing their reactions critically. 

Natasha knows that she isn’t the only one who’s practically radiating disappointment. She can’t hep her tight frown or clenched teeth. Being told that she isn’t good enough reminds her of her fight with her parents and brings a heavy feeling to her stomach. 

“Now, _I_ have _**one**_ week to whip you into shape before your mission. Tell me, who of you want to prove not only to me, but to your Commanders, that you are ready and willing to devote yourselves to Overwatch?!” He shouts, his voice loud, booming and impressive.

“Yes, Sir!” They shout back, mimicking his volume.

“Louder!” 

“ _ **Yes, Sir!**_ ”

“Good! Follow me, Cadets. It’s time to earn tomorrow’s chance at a successful mission!”

 

 

 

Captain Orswell runs them around the base until they’re outside in the cold. He takes them around the base once at a light jogging pace and then into a large, temperature-controlled building that houses an Olympic sized track field. In the middle is what appears to be a square shaped sand-pit that only takes up a fraction of the empty space. The sight of it makes everyone nervous.

“Cadet Vega, Cadet Blakhart.” Natasha and Vega stand at attention, “Run the track until I tell you to stop. Everyone else, you’ll be doing my favorite exercise; Burpees! In the pit! Until I get tired just watching you! Go!” 

There’s a short scramble as Vega and Natasha maneuver around the others when the dart into the pit, but they’re on the long track and keeping up the light jogging pace in no time.

“Did I fucking say _jog_ , Cadets?! I said _**run!**_ ” Captain Orswell roars behind them, chasing them around the track, “How does it feel to be followed Cadets?! Answer me!” 

“Not good, Sir!” Natasha and Vega manage to choke out in between desperate pants as they sprint to keep ahead of Captain Orswell. 

“Didn’t think so!” He runs them around the track two times before he grabs a hold of the back of their shirts and practically throws them into the pit, “Burpees, now!” 

Natasha grunts when she stumbles into the pit beside Thompson. Her legs and lungs are screaming at her, but she obeys her orders and begins her exercise when she feels a tiny shock at her ankle. With a hiss, she jumps back and slaps at the shocked skin, catching a tiny bug hopping off of her ankle and back into the sand. 

“What the hell?” She’s not the only one to be startled, both Era and Vega shout and curse at the same time, jumping and crashing into one another.

“Ant-bots, because the ecologists said that it was _inhumane_ to use actual fire ants for our pit. Which is fine, these boys are a bit nastier.” Captain Orswell sneers at them, “Keep going! I didn’t say to stop!” 

Captain Orswell winds up switching them from burpees to jumping-jacks, to planks and then pushups and crunches. They’re all drenched in sweat and red marks, their arms and legs shaking and their muscles screaming in protest, before Captain Orswell orders them out of the pit. Vega yanks Thompson to his feet when he tries to crawl out of the put, leaning down to whisper something into his ear. Whatever she tells him has him springing out of the pit. When Natasha exits the pit, she’s amazed to see a cloud of tiny robotic ants leaping off of her and back into the sand. The relief she feels from her skin no long constantly stinging is less than what she was expecting, and a little bit of a let-down.

After letting them catch their breath, the Captain leads them back to the training room, “Congratulations on surviving. You’ve earned tomorrow and the rest of your night. Enjoy dinner and do _**not**_ disappoint me again.” He leaves them without another word.

“Shower with cold water, warm temperatures will only agitate the bites.” Yadav warns them before they start undressing. 

She’s right, the cold water soothes the angry red marks, but the cold water has Natasha rushing through the shower despite the protest in her limbs. She’s barely able to make it back to the bench in the training room, still wrapped in a towel, when she’s done showering. None of her teammates seem to be in better shape, though Era and Chang have managed to make it back into a fresh set of workout gear.

“Okay,” Vega starts as she melts against her locker, “How can we improve our shit-tastic performance?” 

“The Escort team needs to be more aggressive. The best defense is a good offense, at least in this situation.” Vern replies.

“But the best offense is a good defense.” Thompson rolls his eyes. 

“So, we split up the Escort team, those who are better at defense and those who are better at offense.” Era chimes in, “Belikov is our best set of eyes, I think he should be on defense. If we use comm units that’ll make communication easier and faster.”

“Oh! I can get some from the armory! I will grab them on the way to breakfast.” Chang offers with a secretive smile.

“Who do you know in there?” Edgar asks with a knowing grin.

“We shouldn’t be keeping secrets from each other.” Natasha chastises Chang when her grin turns mischievous. 

Chang pouts at that, but relents, admitting, “I have a cousin who works a shift at the armory. We are not that close, but he helps me when I need him. I do the same for him. Also, he owes me a favor!” 

“Well isn’t that convenient.” Vern mumbles, “Who else is on defense?”

“I’d say Era and Thompson. Era is great at coming up with plans on the fly and Thompson is fast, we need that for defense. The rest of you should be on offense.” Edgar says. 

“We should have mid-fielders.” Yadav pipes up after a moment of thought.

“Mid-fielders?” Chang raises an eyebrow. 

“Like in football? Or, American soccer? You have defense, offense and then mid-fielders who play both sides and fill in spaces where needed. They’re allowed all over the field where-as offense stays mostly on the enemy team’s side and defense stay on their team’s side.” Yadav explains, along with a mock ‘soccer-game’ with her hands to show what she was saying. 

“Well we all know one person who can play both sides,” Vega taunts at Natasha. 

“Yes, I understand that I have a better sex life than you, but there’s no need to be jealous, Vega. I’m sure that missionary is very satisfying for you.” Natasha bites back with a sneer.

Vega’s nostrils flair as she takes in a deep breath and Natasha can see the hate in her eyes, “Better than being a walking mattress.” She spits. 

Natasha’s lip curls at that and she glares at Vega, but before she can retort, Vern steps in, “That’s enough. Though, Vega does make a good point. Blakhart would be a good pick for mid-field. Who do you want with you?” He poses the question to Natasha.

With pursed lips, Natasha looks around the room, contemplating who she would choose, “Yadav, she was training with me for a while back at boot-camp. We make a good team and you, Chang and Vega make a better offensive team.”

As much as she would have loved to take Vern away, Natasha knows that would only hinder them.

“How do we know that we’ll all be on the escort team tomorrow?” Thompson asks, and surprised looks are pass around.

“It… just seems like a natural progression?” Vern shrugs.

“Captain Orswell kind of hinted at it?” Natasha adds.

“How else are we supposed to learn how to Escort as a team if we all aren’t on the same team?” Era says, adding, “Tomorrow, we find our strengths and weaknesses and work on fixing them. We’ve already did a bit of that today, yeah, but we never saw Yadav on the attack and frankly, I’d be scared of her. She’s one of them sneaky ones.” 

Vega bites at her thumb while she contemplates Yadav, “That’s true…”

“So who will be the omnics?” Thompson prompts. 

“Definitely one of the other Cadet teams. He’ll probably start us off with a team that’s just senior to us and work our way up to the most senior team. After that? Probably Agents.” Natasha says.

Vern and Edgar nod in agreement. Vega hums thoughtfully, but no other comments are made.

“Since it’s another team, we don’t have to play nice, do we?” Thompson asks after a pause.

That causes some laughter amongst the team, Era shakes his head and claps Thompson on the back, “I can’t wait to see you actually fight, kid.” 

“Next time don’t go easy on your own team. We all want to be better, the only way to do that is by getting the shit kicked out of us.” Vega tells him sternly. 

“Yes, Ma’am.” Thompson grumbles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now its kinda crunch time because I DOOOOO plan on posting chapter 10 next week and I'm still working on chapter 11 :'D gotta pump that shit out already. ALSO!!! THIS WHOLE FUCKGING TIME I HONESTLY THOUGHT OVERWATCH WAS IN SWEDEN!?!??! IT'S IN SWITZERLAND?!?!?!?!?!!?!?!!?!?!? HOW DID I MIX THIS UP?!?!?!?? Don't worry, I've fixed it, but if the location was mentioned in previous chapters, it's gonna stay fucked. I'm sorry :'D


	10. Playdate With The Big Kids Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never wander where you aren't welcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally finished Chapter 11 so here ya'll go :'D Chapter 10 is long, Chapter 11 is also long (possible longer?) so some treats for your patience.

The next morning, Natasha is up again before everyone else. Despite being sore, she feels restless and recalls how running with Captain Orswell had cleared her head. Her skin tingles with anxiety left from another nightmare she doesn’t want to think about. Brief images of splattered blood and a voice begging to live haunt Natasha as she makes her way out of the base. The cold air is a boon as she begins her jog. The light sting in her lungs and ache in her legs banishes the last vestiges of her nightmare and allows her to think clearly. 

With her entire body still recovering from Captain Orswell’s punishment, Natasha only jogs for ten minutes before returning inside to rinse off the sweat. She’s re-wrapping her legs and arms when the first few members of her team drag themselves into the locker room. 

“Morning,” Yadav yawns and holds her hand out for the wrap. 

Natasha mutters a greeting as she passes the wrap and does a few extra stretches.   
“Oh, we should stretch.” Thompson begins copying Natasha as the others come in as well. 

Chang arrives just after everyone else and passes around standard-issue-comm units. The rest of the morning prep routine is quiet as everyone waits for Captain Orswell. There’s an air of eagerness in the room as well, with a few excited grins being passed around.

Captain Orswell shows up a few minutes later looking pleased with himself, “Good morning, Cadets. How are you all feeling?” 

Someone sneezes, Natasha isn’t sure who, and then someone else coughs. Now that Natasha thinks about it, she isn’t feeling so hot either, or rather, she’s feeling a little too hot. 

“What the hell is the matter with you lot? You all look like death warmed over!” Captain Orswell snaps.

He stomps over to Thompson and feels his forehead, and then Chang’s, Vega’s, Vern’s, Edgar’s, Era’s, Yadav’s and finally Natasha’s. They blink at him, waiting for his verdict.

“You took showers after last night’s exercise?” Captain Orswell poses the question to them all.

“Yes, Sir!” They reply without hesitation.

“Warm or cold?” His voice, filled with critical demand, makes them pause.

“Cold… Sir?” Yadav answers for them.

“Why the bloody hell would you use _cold_ water?!” The Captain roars at them. 

“B-because of the… venom, Sir?” Thompson answers, “The ant-bots?” 

Captain Orswell huffs and stares at each one of them for a long moment, “Those bloody ant-bots have no venom. They give you a controlled shock that agitates and feels just like the bite of an venomous ant-bot.” He explains to them slowly. 

There’s a tense moment where none of the Cadets say a word, staring back at Captain Orswell in surprise. 

“Why wouldn’t they have venom?” Yadav finally asks, which seems to set Captain Orswell off on a rant.

“Because a _certain Swedish **doctor**_ thought that it would be far too cruel to have any _actual_ venom!” Captain Orswell grounds out as he stomps away from them adopting a high-pitched ‘girly’ voice, “ _’Oh, what if someone diiieeed? They’re here to train, not **kill** themselves!’_ ” He mocks, “Bullshit, like no one ever died during training before! Nooooo, that neeevveerr happened. It’s not like we’re trying to weed out the weak…” His voice trails off as he stomps out of the locker room. 

There’s another short pause before Captain Orswell stomps back into the room, “I want whatever the hell is making you lot sneeze and cough gone before breakfast, Cadets!” He orders and then leaves before they can respond. 

“Was he talking about Dr. Ziegler?” Chang asks when they’re certain he’s left. 

“Well, people do call her Mercy for a reason.” Era rolls his eyes. 

“Thanks for the ass-chewing, Yadav, it was a really nice pick-me-up.” Vega says sarcastically, “Where the hell do we keep the cold medicine?” She begins routing through one of the first-aid kits, disappointed at the lack of anything that would help with their particular ailments. 

“You’re welcome. I thought it would be a good way to start the day.” Yadav replies and then tosses a small pill bottle at Vega, “One pill should be enough to get you through the day. The directions say to take one every twelve hours until symptoms stop.” 

Vega mutters a thank-you before taking one for herself and passing the bottle around. 

“Hey guys…” Thompson calls once everyone has taken a pill, “What if… what if we’re not on the same team?” 

Era sighs at that and gives Thompson a look of pity. He places a firm hand on his shoulder and pulls the younger man close.

“Then we kick each other’s asses.” Era tells him grimly.

“We should go over our strengths and weaknesses,” Vern says, “Even if we all aren’t on the same team, it’ll help us learn how to cover our weak points and boost our strong ones. That’s what this exercise is about, after all.” 

“Let’s start off with our strengths and then discuss our weaknesses and how we can cover each other.” Vega says, starting them off. 

The discussion carries into breakfast where they huddle around each other arguing how best to cover one person over another.

“I’m just saying that Blakhart can think on her feet, yeah I’ll give her that, but she can’t fight for shit. She’s a damned sniper, she’d be better calling attention to someone if Belikov can’t. But she should not be on defense.” Era argues. 

Natasha sighs and rubs her forehead, “And if I can’t fight then putting me on the attack would also be a bad idea. We get it. So keep me in the mid-field and bring in Chang to help make up for that. She’s our strongest fighter.” 

“But you work better with Yadav,” Edgar points out.

“That doesn’t mean anything. The only reason we work better is because we trained together longer.” Yadav retorts.

“We just need to remember to communicate and we will do well.” Chang says with an assuring smile, “Blakhart and I have never had any issues when we were paired together.”

“I don’t think you’ve had any issues with anyone, which makes you an excellent choice for mid-field. You work well with all of us.” Vega adds to Chang’s point. 

“But your stamina is lacking which is why I wonder if it’s a good idea to have you be more on offense than defense.” Vern says. 

“She has a fast recovery time, and she fights well. Chang is better suited to offensive midfield.” Era argues. 

“Yadav and Chang can switch if need be, that covers a lot of in terms of strength and weakness between midfield and offense. What about defense?” Vega presses.

“Edgar’s eyes are good, and we have Natasha’s for back-up. Thompson can stay closer to Natasha in the event that we need quick interference. I’ll be last line of defense, Edgar can call out incoming bogies and I can be a great wall.” Era explains.

“That all sounds good to me.” Vega looks to Vern for approval.

“Me too, and if we’re all on opposite teams then… Best of luck and don’t pull any punches.” Vern says, earning a muttering of approvals from the rest of the team. 

 

 

 

Breakfast doesn’t last much longer, and at the tail end of the hour Captain Orswell strolls over to their table with the one of their senior teams following closely behind him. With one sharp whistle, he has his team up on their feet and standing at attention.

“Team, meet your opponents; Team Valkyrie.” 

Team Valkyrie is, unsurprisingly, mostly females with built frames. The only two males on their team don’t lack for muscle either. Compared to Natasha’s team with mostly runner’s and athletic builds, Team Valkyrie look like tanks. And they all look too eager to crush them into the dirt. 

Vern steps forward and gives a brief salute, “A pleasure to meet you.” 

The woman closest to Captain Orswell takes a step forward and mimics Vern, “You as well!” She speaks with a thick Russian accent, “I wish you luck, we will not go easy on you!” 

“We wouldn’t want you to,” Vega stands beside Vern with a wicked smirk.

For her part, Team Valkyrie’s unofficial leader seems satisfied with Vega’s response, “Good luck to you all.” She gives them a short bow and leads her team out of the cafeteria. 

“Mission starts now, Cadets.” Captain Orswell tells them and then turns on his heel, following Team Valkyrie out of the cafeteria. 

Vega, Vern, and Yadav sprint ahead of Captain Orswell with Chang trailing behind them. They won’t be taking any risks today, which is good. But Team Valkyrie is no where to be seen once they’re out of the cafeteria.   
“Perfect, they didn’t even leave a trail.” Vega snarls. 

The first hour of escorting Captain Orswell is suspiciously quiet. Everyone is on edge, especially with their offense scouting ahead. Despite every report coming up empty, Vern dutifully fills them in every five minutes to ensure there isn’t a break in the comm line. 

“Clear.” Vern’s clipped tone comes through the comm at the five-minute mark like clockwork. 

Natasha can’t say that she’s spotted anything yet either, which is off-putting. They have no idea where or when the enemy will come, and it reminds Natasha of her time in the military, with her brother. Being cooped up in a high point where the enemy would least expect you had great advantages, but if you weren’t careful and they spotted you… You became their highest priority. 

There is no such luxury now, and Natasha doubts that there will be one on their actual mission, so she takes it for what it is. Good practice. Which means constantly checking corners, entry-ways, vents and their backs. With so much coverage in the buildings, there comes a feeling of claustrophobia. Thompson seems to be the most effected by it, but Era isn’t too far behind him in those terms. Both of them are clearly agitated and Era looks like he might snap at any moment. 

Despite telling her team all she could about Team Valkyrie and their fighting habits, there’s nothing that will quell their unease. After all, there was nothing stopping Team Valkyrie from straying from their usual patterns. They most often came in with a hard push, making high-risk moves that paid off in the end. Of course, that usually lead to some injuries here and there, but for the most part all of their records showed the injuries were minor. Save for one who had fractured arm, but that was the worst of their injury report. 

No matter where Team Valkyrie pushed from, they had to be ready for it. They would have to act quickly to dismantle the enemy team before they themselves were dismantled. 

The first push came twenty minutes later, when they were following Captain Orswell off to the training fields where he wanted to speak with one of the other Captains. Natasha was almost disappointed with how predictable their first attack is. So out in the open, they could see them coming from miles away.

It becomes Edgar’s and Era’s job is to get Captain Orswell somewhere safe while the rest of the team fight off the attack, much to the amusement of the team that was training on the fields today. The Captain is surprisingly cooperative when Era informs him that they’re moving him to a separate location. Thompson follows them to a degree before he stops and waits. Natasha isn’t sure where they took him to, but the comm lines are open with muted chatter about whose going in for the first punch.

Team Valkyrie only pushed from one angle, rushing in as one unit, acting like a cannonball with the hope that they’d take them out. But Vega is able to take three of the enemy team out with quick jabs and expert dodging before she’s taken out and Vern has managed to trip one of them before he rushes over to Vega. Yadav, on the other hand, takes out two of them when Chang reaches her for back-up and the two of them take out one of the larger enemies before Yadav gets hit. 

The last one is one of the male members and he’s quick on his feet. Thompson is rushing past Natasha before the enemy has a chance to reach her though, giving her the opportunity to move in for a kick to the back of his knees when Thompson has his attention. As soon as he falls down with a grunt, Chang is pulling Yadav to her feet and pretending to support her while Vern practically throws Vega onto his back.

“We have less than five minutes to secure the payload!” Vern shouts into the comm as they run for one of the buildings.

“Payload is secure and moving out!” Era barks back, the connection is fuzzy at best and it takes them a moment to understand him. 

“Moving where?” Natasha snarls as they make their way to the back exit of the building.  
They rush passed curious agents coming and going through what looks like a miniature chow-hall. Some of them look amused and others irritated. 

“Meet us at locatio-“ The connections drops out, “-s down?” Edgar’s voice is choppy, barely breaking through bits of static and then silence. 

“Era? Belikov? Report, dammit!” Vern hisses, but his demands are met with silence.   
“Let’s wait here.” Natasha suggests when they exit the building. 

Vern looks like he might argue, but Vega is already slipping off of his back. Yadav takes her arm away from Chang with a quiet thanks and Thompson looks around the area. There isn’t much space around the back of the building, it’s mostly small alleyway with doors leading into the surrounding buildings. There’s even a stone pathway laid down in the open space.

“Okay, Blakhart, you’re the creepy stalker. Where do they want to meet at?” Vega grumbles with her arms crossed.

Natasha looks up and down the narrow alleyway as she thinks, ignoring Vega’s figurative jab, “Probably somewhere back in the main building? But the question is; How do we get to the other side without being spotted? There’s way too large of an open space in between our location and the one we might be meeting at.” 

The silence is tense, they avoid each other’s eyes, glaring at the walls of the buildings or the stones that make up the paths. Each one of them scrambling to think of how they’re going to get back into the main building without being seen.

“They must have taken the long way around, moving along the very edge of the base. It would explain why the comm units are so spotty.” Vern explains, glaring at the ground as he pieces together this new puzzle. 

Chang frowns at that, “The comm units are long-range, though.” Her brows pinch together in confusion.

“Or your cousin gave us the training comms. Those are notorious for their short-range and spotty connections.” Thompson argues, clearly unhappy with their situation. 

“Whatever he gave us, we need to figure out how to get to the edge of the base without being seen like they did.” Yadav cuts off any more argument between the two youngest members. 

“I think we’ll have to assume that the Captain isn’t going to be very cooperative.” Vega sneers. 

“If he isn’t being cooperative, why did he follow Era and Belikov?” Thompson asks, his brows pinched in confusion. 

“For a reason. A test maybe? I doubt it’s for our benefit.” Vern answers with a frown.   
“Maybe… he wants us to see something?” Chang suggests hesitantly. 

“That makes sense…” Natasha bites her thumb at the thought, “But what?” 

“Whatever it is, I suggest we get moving soon. Our ten minutes are almost up.” Yadav says, peaking around the corner of the mini-chow-hall. 

Frowns are traded; the enemy team is more than likely on the hunt. There would be no reason for them to retreat. 

“I’ll scout ahead, see if I can find a good path for us to take.” Natasha offers.  
“But I’m faster!” Thompson argues, “And only one of us can move right now.” 

“Yes, you are fast,” Vern places a comforting hand on Thompson’s shoulder, “But Blakhart is the better scout. She’s had more training for that than you have and right now it’s critical to use someone with experience.” 

Thompson looks like he wants to argue more about why he should go instead, but with a pout and crossed arms he mutters an ‘Okay’ and kicks at the stones. Natasha gives him a pat on the shoulder and a promise to walk him through the basics so that he could scout next time. Thompson perks up at that and Vern and Yadav give her looks of approval. 

Natasha decides to stick mostly to the stone alleys, taking a moment to check her surroundings when she has to pass between openings to the Field. She slips in between the buildings, cursing when she sees the faint outline of the base’s fence on the horizon with no cover in sight. Not even the forest is close enough to guarantee them safe passage. 

“There’s gotta be some way they went.” Natasha growls to herself, pacing back and forth, struggling to come up with a solution. “Maybe… Maybe there’s a tunnel?” She mutters to herself, “A quick way to get from one point to another…” 

With a snarl, she suddenly stops and pinches the bridge of her nose. It’s a huge shot in the dark with no guarantee that she’ll find anything, but what other choice does she have? Several, they could just run across the field and risk getting taken out by the enemy team. They would eventually it over, and it would keep the enemy team occupied. 

“Sacrifices are necessary.” Natasha mumbles, “Hey, I’m headed back now. Couldn’t find anything.” Natasha tells the team. 

“Alright, but we’ve moved to a different location. We came up with a back-up plan. Meet us behind the Medical building.” Vern informs her. 

Natasha nods to herself and begins to make her way over when a light tapping sound draws her attention. She whips around, dropping into a fighting stance, but only sees an amused Mechanic leaning against the building.

“Cadet Blakhart, fancy meeting you here.” He smiles widely at her. 

Natasha eyes him warily and drops her arms to her sides, “Fancy indeed. _Agent._ ” 

His smile sharpens at that, putting Natasha on edge, but then it’s replaced with a pout at her glare, “Don’t give me that look! I’m here to help, I promise. I saw Team Valkyrie running over here and then you and your team scampering off. Trying to look for a safe way out?” 

Natasha purses her lips as she contemplates not answering him, “Yes,” She decides when he starts pouting again. 

“Great, I know just the place!” Mechanic cheers, “Let’s go get the rest of your team and I’ll show you a secret.” His smile returns with a mischievous tilt to it. 

There’s a bit of hesitation on Natasha’s part. He _could_ be trying to sabotage them, so she doesn’t want to put her team at risk. _But_. But Captain Orswell is safe and secure, as far as she knows. Any subterfuge on his part would be more or less meaningless. She discusses her predicament with Vern, who’s just as suspicious of Mechanic’s true intentions as she is. Mechanic waits off to the side, keeping an eye out or at least pretending to. In the end, without other viable options, Vern agrees to trust Mechanic. Natasha catches the start of a planned ambush should Mechanic turn out to be lying to them before she returns her attention to Mechanic.

“Ready?” He asks her when she catches his eye. 

“Let’s go,” Natasha nods and then turns around to head towards the Medical building. 

Mechanic catches her shoulder before she can walk two steps and tugs her against his side, throwing his arm over her shoulder with a little too much ease. 

“Can I help you?” Natasha sneers and attempts to pull away from him, “What are you doing?” She hisses when he leads her out of the alley, putting her in plain view of anyone on and around the Field. 

“Relax,” Mechanic pinches her arm and turns them so that his body mostly keeps her out of sight, “Best place to hide is right under their nose.”

Natasha knows that, but she would have preferred taking the back way. She doesn’t like being so out in the open, not knowing exactly where the enemy is. It makes her tense up, much to Mechanic’s annoyance, and she receives another pinch. 

“Would you quit pinching me?” She hisses through her teeth and then pinches the soft flesh of his side.

Surprisingly, he only lets out a soft grunt before grabbing a hold of her hand and placing it around his waist, pulling them a bit closer together, “If you’d just relax, you’d realize that no one is paying us any mind.”

Natasha glances around, letting her hand stay on his waist as she sees the truth in his words. 

“I’m _really_ good at blending in.” He tells her, sending a smirk her way. 

“And PDA isn’t going to get either of us in trouble?” Natasha whispers to him as she keeps an eye out for any of their superiors.

There are far too many around, but none of them even glance their way. 

“Nah, you’re pretty much safe with me.” Mechanic assures her with a gentle squeeze to her shoulder.

“Explain.” Natasha demands.

“Over lunch?” Mechanic offers. 

Natasha’s lips curl at that. On one hand, she’s curious about Mechanic’s self-assured ‘cloak’. On the other, though…? Far too familiar for her liking.

“I promise I’m not trying anything!” Mechanic claims at Natasha’s silence, “You’ve just got this potential and I’m curious to see where it takes you.”

That only causes Natasha to frown, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Mechanic’s answer is an eye-roll, “I’ll tell you over lunch? You still have Saturday off, right?” 

“I’m not sure. It’s possible, but I doubt it.” Natasha replies, her frown turning thoughtful. 

“Well, I guess I’ll find you and see if you’re still training. Anyway, here we are.” Mechanic unwraps his arm from around her shoulders and Natasha lets her hand drop from his waist. 

Mechanic gestures for her to go first with a charming smile that Natasha rolls her eyes at, but she slips in between the Medical building and a much smaller unit next to it. Just as Vern said, the team is waiting by the waste bin, crouched behind it and poking their heads out curiously. 

“Finally, what took you so long?” Vega sneers in a harsh whisper.

“I ran into some help,” Natasha moves closer with Mechanic following closely after her. 

“Hello, Team Captain Orswell,” Mechanic greets them with a small wave, “I understand you’re on a time crunch, so without further delay, if you’ll just follow me…” He trails off as he turns around and walks away, not bothering to check if they’re following him.

Vern glares at his back and then at Natasha, “What the hell is this?”

“He said he has a way to get us back to the main base. _Safely._ ” Natasha explains, “It’s our best shot, unless your back-up plan was any better?” 

“No, ours was much worse. A lot of self-sacrifice was involved.” Thompson answers, “Are we gonna follow him? Cause we’re losing him!” 

Vern curses at that, “Fine, let’s go.”

Thankfully, Mechanic hasn’t gained much distance from them, walking at the easy pace that he is, so the team catches up to him fairly quickly. 

“Where are you taking us?” Yadav asks before Vern can. 

“Oh, you’ll see. And it’s a secret, so shhhh!” Mechanic replies without looking at any of them. 

He leads them back to the chow-hall, through the backdoor and into the storage room. By some miracle, there were no other agents to see them. In the storage room, Mechanic moves a few boxes blocking a locked door with a panel to the side that had the silhouette of a hand next to a card reader. 

“Okay, put your hand there.” He instructs Natasha after he swipes his own badge, slipping it under the collar of his shirt.

She raises her brow at that, “Is this a trap?” 

“Of course not! I’m trying to help, how am I supposed to eat lunch with you if you can’t even trust me?” Mechanic looks particularly wounded by Natasha’s accusation. 

“I still haven’t agreed to that.” Natasha mumbles back, but places her hand inside of the silhouette, palm down. 

It chirps a quiet, but pleasant sound and flashes green. And then the door slides open.  
“Where does this go?” Vern asks. 

“The tunnels. It’s pretty much just a straight shoot from here to the main base’s chow-hall. Cafeteria. Place where people eat.” Mechanic’s short explanation does nothing to ease their nerves, but Thompson looks eager to use the tunnels.

“This is perfect!” He cries, “We’ll be able to sneak right under their noses!” 

“As long as it isn’t a trap.” Vega spits. 

“I assure you, it isn’t a trap.” Mechanic raises his hands and shows them his palms in a sign of defense. 

“This really isn’t assuring me that this isn’t a trap.” Yadav quips. 

Mechanic rolls his eyes with a groan, “Fine. Don’t use the tunnels. Lose the exercise. Disappoint your Captain. See if I care.” He raises his hand to the panel, as though to shut the door, but Natasha grabs his wrist before he can.

“We’ll use the damned tunnels.” She snarls, looking over her shoulder at Vern. 

Vern frowns tightly in response, “Fine.” 

Mechanic takes a step away from the door as soon as Natasha lets go of his wrist, “Just go down the main hallway. You’ll know it, because it’s the largest.” He shoos them into the tunnel. 

Vern takes the lead once more, starting them down the short stairwell and into a rather large hallway. The door closes behind them with a quiet hiss, but there doesn’t seem to be a way to re-open it.

“Well, trap or not, we’re stuck.” Yadav informs them with a sigh. 

“I swear to fucking god…” Vega snarls. 

“No need to start panicking, let’s just keep moving.” Vern tells them. 

There’s only two ways for them to go, right or left. There are no signs on the walls, nor any maps nearby. The walls are all a light-grey with a red stripe running in an endless line in the middle, while the floors are near black. Well-polished, they reflect the team. The tunnel system is also well-lit, with lights imbedded in either corner where the wall meets the ceiling. 

“This way.” Vern decides after a moment of contemplation, turning to the left and leading them down a seemingly endless hallway. 

After perhaps a mile of walking, there’s an opening to the left. It’s a much larger hallway than the one they occupy. On either side of the opening are two arrows. One points down the way they came, reading **STORAGE**. The other points further down their current hallway, reading **INFIRMARY**. Two arrows point down the larger hallway, both reading **BASE**. 

“Well that’s easy enough. But why is it so empty here?” Vega wonders aloud. 

“Maybe the tunnels are strictly for emergency travel?” Chang offers with a nervous air. 

“It feels like we’re being watched.” Natasha grumbles as her eyes search the walls, finding nothing out of the ordinary. 

“It does…” Yadav agrees with a frown.

“Or you’re both just paranoid. There’s clearly no one here.” Vega spreads an arm wide to show just how many people are occupying the tunnels. 

Natasha bites her lip to keep from snapping back at Vega. She’s right, but there’s still a prickling feeling on her back. They _are_ being watched. But by who? Natasha has no idea. 

“We should still keep our guard up. I admit, that I feel unease here, too.” Chang says. 

Vega rolls her eyes, but doesn’t make another comment. 

“Maybe it’s just security? Making sure we’re not saboteurs?” Thompson guesses as Vern leads them down the **BASE** hallway, “You can hide a camera anywhere these days.” 

“That makes sense.” Vern says. 

Still, it doesn’t ease the tension in the group. As they walk down the hallway, their footsteps echo, bouncing off the walls and increasing Natasha’s paranoia. She swears there’s someone behind them, but every time she looks, there’s nothing. Beside her, though, Yadav is tapping away at her phone, holding it at an angle that keeps the others from peeking at her work. 

“What are you doing?” Natasha asks her with a furrowed brow. 

That gets the others’ attention, stopping the group as everyone turns to look at Yadav. 

“Hacking into their system.” Yadav replies without missing a beat. 

“What?” Vern blanches at that, “Without even knowing who’s on the other side?” 

“Please, I’m not an idiot,” Yadav rolls her eyes at him, “I’m keeping them busy enough.” A secretive smile creeps onto her face. 

“With what?” Vega demands, her eyes darting around, expecting to see security at any moment. 

“Something.” Yadav retorts in a clipped tone, pursing her lips as she concentrates, “Ah! Here!” She quickly turns her phone around to show them what looks like the feed from one of the security cameras. 

In it Captain Orswell is standing with his arms crossed and a sever frown marring his expression as he speaks with… Commander Reyes? 

“What the hell is he doing here?” Natasha wonders aloud. 

“Isn’t he out on a mission?” Vega asks, her eyes flicking between the camera feed and Natasha. 

“Maybe he got back early?” Thompson offers. 

“Whatever they’re talking about must not be good. The Captain does not look happy.” Chang hums thoughtfully. 

“Does he ever?” Vern grumbles. 

Suddenly, Commander Reyes cranes his head to stare into the camera and winks before the feed cuts out. They share a collective gasp as they all back away from the phone, as though it might leap from Yadav’s hand and bite them. The lights go out, making a few of them yelp, but Natasha isn’t sure who. They’re only out for a moment before they’re back on, blinding them with an unusually bright light and they suddenly find themselves surrounded by an eight-man team in the same black gear that the men guarding the airport gate were in. 

“Nobody move!” One of them shouts. 

The entire team has guns pointed at them, and they freeze accordingly.   
“Down on the ground, now! Drop the phone!” Another barks, moving closer to Yadav and catching the phone just as she drops it. They back away quickly before fiddling with the phone. 

The team drops to their knees, raising their hands behind their heads as they’re told, glaring at the security team as they’re handcuffed once they’re no longer deemed an immediate threat.

“Captain, come look at this.” The one who had grabbed the phone is still tapping around, but he angles the phone to the captain when they approach him. The Captain is in the same gear as the rest of the team.

“Well,” The captain starts with a distinctly feminine voice and a shrug and then turns their head towards Yadav, “At least we know where that attack came from.”

“I think I’ll confiscate this.” The security guard waves the phone at Yadav, “It’ll come in handy later on, thanks.”

Yadav sneers at the man, but says nothing. 

“Nest, this is Mama Bird. The intruders have been secured and we’re moving out to you.” The captain turns her head and seems to speak into a comm unit on her shoulder. 

Thought that could just be a façade. 

“Roger that. We’ve got cages ready.” Another voice sounds faintly from the Captain. 

“Cages?” Vega asks with a look of mild surprise. 

“You’re intruding into a high-clearance area and I can guarantee that none of you have permission to be here.” The captain explains and then raises her gun again, “Now get up and start marching.” 

 

 

 

Natasha sits quietly with her jaw clenched in a stereotypical interrogation room. The kind you would see on crappy cop shows. One small, square room, sitting at a metal desk with her hands cuffed to it, facing a two-way mirror. Her hands are clenched as well, and once she realizes it, she forces herself to relax and then cracks her jaw to release the tension there. She keeps her eyes on her hands, mentally tracing the cuffs. She doesn’t entertain the idea of her teammates, she knows how badly that will go. She doesn’t think about how Mechanic _definitely_ betrayed her trust. She doesn’t start plotting her revenge against him, not yet. Natasha has to get out of here in one piece… Without being dishonorably discharged from Overwatch. If they don’t make her ‘disappear’. 

To pass the time, Natasha imagines the sound of a ticking clock and plays around with the idea that she’s only really been here for an hour at most, probably less. The ticking of the clock turns into the tapping of a metal claw against the metal desk and Natasha’s eyes snap open, not realizing they were closed. The tapping noise is gone. 

Before she can contemplate whether she’d taken a brief nap or not, the only door to the room creaks open, one of the armored guards sauntering through and taking a seat at the metal desk opposite her. They slap down a manila folder filled to the brim on the table. Natasha stares at it passively. 

Give nothing up, she thinks to herself. It didn’t matter if she was betrayed or not. She had training for interrogations. Give. Nothing. Up. 

“Good morning.” The voice of the captain is almost surprising, but Natasha doesn’t let it show. 

“Good morning.” Natasha parrots if only for politeness. 

She doubts it’s morning, but goes along with it anyway. She doesn’t think about how her mother didn’t raise a barn animal, as she would say. 

“Care to tell me what a bunch of _Cadets_ are doing snooping around high-clearance areas they don’t belong in?” The captain asks, her tone crisp and clear despite the helmet. 

Natasha doesn’t answer the question. She simply stares at the folder, letting herself wonder about the contents. The captain follows her eyes, her head dipping to the folder, before she turns it towards Natasha and flips it open. In the folder are several pictures of her team walking around in the tunnels, clearly talking to one another. Their faces are all shown clear as day in the pictures. 

“You know your teammates already gave us everything we needed. This is more of a formality.” The captain tells her.

It’s almost believable, but regardless to whether her teammates _did_ say anything or not, Natasha doesn’t answer. 

The captain stares at her for a long moment, or perhaps behind her, it’s hard to tell when Natasha can’t see her eyes, before pulling out a photo of Yadav with her phone shown clearly. It looks to be an app with a bunch of complicated coding. 

“Tell me what Cadet Yadav was doing, snooping around in our data base.” It’s a demand, and one that Natasha wants to answer, after all they _were_ just trying to find their Captain.

But what if Yadav was doing more than that? 

“We know that you’ve been snooping around as well. Though, you’ve stuck to the public files, for the most part.” The captain reveals.

Natasha keeps her expression calm and cool, though inside she feels as though she’s somehow wandered into a trap. It puts her on edge and as much as she doesn’t want it to show, she’s sure the captain can tell. 

“Are you two working together? What is it that either of you hope to gain?” The captain’s tone turns harsh as she leans onto the table, bringing her helmet close enough that Natasha could bump her nose against it. 

Again, comes the urge to simply tell the captain that she was just being nosy, trying to find as much information about Overwatch and its people as possible to sate her own curiosity. But she knows that would only do harm here, in an interrogation room, where she’s already been deemed suspicious and a probable threat.

“You do realize that if we have proof that you’re sabotaging our organization or leaking information out, you aren’t just going to be put in jail, right?” The captain asks in an almost taunting manner, “And trust me when I say that no one is going to go snooping around for where you disappeared off to.” 

There’s a heavy implication there of what Natasha had initially assumed. A spike of fear grows in the back of her head. They would probably torture her until she told them all of the useless information she gathered. Still, Natasha clenches her hands and days nothing.

The captain pauses just before she’s about to ask another question or throw out another threat, turning her head to the side. 

“Copy that.” She says to whoever is on the other end of the communication line, “Sit there. We’re not done here.” 

The captain gets up without another word, doesn’t even look back at Natasha, leaving the folder and its contents within reach, and leaves the room. Natasha stares at the folder, her curiosity taking over and she thumbs through the pictures. Eventually she comes to a few that were taken just outside of the door Mechanic had led them to.  
Natasha lets out a short breath that isn’t quite a huff at the sight of him. Though, strangely, his is the only face in those photos. The only time the team’s faces are shown is in the tunnels. It makes her wonder if he had done that on purpose. It didn’t matter now, though. 

When the door opens again, Natasha doesn’t look away from the photos, telling herself to feel no shame in picking through what was left behind. She only looks up when Captain Orswell takes the chair from across from her.

Immediately she tries to stand and salute him, momentarily forgetting about the cuffs and only manages to get halfway there, “Sir!” 

“Sit down, Cadet.” Captain Orswell growls, his face pinching in anger and making his scars stand out. 

He looks far too intimidating in this room. 

Natasha quickly retakes her seat, straightening her back as much as she could and holding her head high. 

“Just what in the bloody hell did you lot think you were doing down there?!” He demands, his loud voice bouncing off of the walls and ringing in her ears.

Natasha hesitates to answer, still in the mindset of the interrogation.

“I asked you a question, Cadet! _**ANSWER IT!!**_ ” His voice booms and barks, Natasha can’t help but flinch at it.

“We were trying to reunite with you and the others, Sir!” Natasha answers stiffly.

“And just how the hell did you get there, Cadet?” Captain Orswell’s voice isn’t quite booming this time, but it’s still loud.

“We were shown the tunnels by an Agent, Sir! He assured us that we would be able to get back to the main base without running into team Valkyrie, Sir!” It sounds so stupid now that she’s saying it out loud and she wants to bite her tongue for it. 

“And you _trusted_ this agent!?” Natasha can’t help but blink at how Captain Orswell sounds a little too… shocked.

“Sir?” Natasha can’t voice her question, it’s stuck in her throat, but Captain Orswell seems to hear it loud and clear anyway.

He leans forward, lowering his voice, “Cadet, we have found evidence of a mole in Overwatch leaking information to our enemies. Several missions have been sabotaged, but we still haven’t found the missing link that will lead us to whoever it betraying Overwatch.” 

Natasha sucks in a breath at that, her blood running cold. A mole? Here? In Overwatch? Of course it’s possible, but… and then her blood runs hot with anger. How _dare_ they! This was an organization for peace! How _dare_ they turn their backs on that?! How dare they put innocent people in danger like that?! 

Captain Orswell can see the heat in her eyes and nods slowly in understanding, “Congratulations, Cadet. You’ve got your first official mission. I know your skill with finding and tracking targets. I need you to put that skill to good use and help us _find_ whoever is behind this and _stop_ them from further putting more people at risk. Understand?” 

“Yes, sir!” 

“Good. No one else is to know about this, got it? I can’t trust anyone else.” Captain Orswell holds her gaze with such serious intent that Natasha can’t look away. 

“Yes, Sir.” Natasha swallows, mentally preparing herself for what’s to come. 

 

 

 

Before Natasha is taken out of the interrogation room a bag is put over her head. There’s a lot of walking, several turns, a few flights of stairs, and doors opening and closing. She’s sure that they went in at least three circles. And then the bag is taken off and she sees her entire team sitting around their locker room with expressions varying from angry to grave. 

Captain Orswell takes off her cuffs, stuffing them into his back pocket and folding the bag she had over her head. There’s no sign of the guards that had stopped them in the tunnels. 

Natasha frowns at that and rubs her wrists, before moving to sit with her team. But then Captain Orswell whistles, a short sound, and everyone stands at attention in a neat line. He’s no longer impressed with their quick action, and his face is filled to the brim with disappointment. 

“Every single one of you has disappointed me _more_ than anyone I have ever known, today.” There’s anger in his eyes that makes Natasha begin to worry, “Not only did you fail your mission, _again_. But the majority of you trespassed in an area that you are no where near allowed to be in! And that doesn’t just fall on your heads, but mine too! Do you know how much you disgraced me with this little stunt of yours?!” He demands.  
He gets no answer and sneers in disgust.

“While you lot were _gallivanting_ in the tunnels, team Valkyrie was able to disable your two teammates that you _abandoned_ with me, which left me utterly defenseless! You are the _single_ worst team that I have _ever_ had the displeasure of training!” Each word is punctuated with a painful disappointment that hits the entire team. 

Just looking in Captain Orswell’s direction is difficult. 

“And do you know what that means?” His question is quiet, but filled with meaning, “That’s right,” He says to their continued silence, “More intense training. Get into the training room. We’re running simulations until you can’t feel your damned legs!” 

 

 

 

 

Captain Orswell makes good on his threat. By the time the day is over, everyone is collapsing in their beds. But there’s a nervous energy that seems to be keeping everyone up.

“How the hell did those Valkyrie assholes get the Captain?” Vega whispers harshly into the dark room. 

“Smoke bomb,” Era grumbles, “Completely caught us off guard.” 

“They’re allowed to use that shit?!” Thompson cries loudly. 

“I know, right? What the fuck!” Yadav mimics Thompson’s outrage.

“I think that would give us the opportunity to be as creative as they were…” Chang says, and the room goes quiet with contemplation. 

“Blakhart, Yadav…” Vern starts, “How creative can the two of you get?” 

The question sends a thrill down Natasha’s spine, but then she remembers her mission. Find the mole. Her first thought, she can’t help, is Yadav. She’s a much better hacker, and her actions in the tunnel were questionable at best… This would be a good opportunity to see if she had any malicious intent she was hiding. 

“Very.” Natasha answers for the both of them. 

She hears Yadav chuckle at the notion above her. 

“In the morning. I think we could break away around breakfast?” Yadav leans over her bed to peer down at Natasha. 

“It’ll be the easiest then, but we’ll have to be quick.” Natasha agrees, her eyes scanning Yadav’s expression.

It’s too dark to see much of anything, but Natasha catches the smirk Yadav sends her way before rolling back onto her bed and out of sight.

Sleep comes quickly after that, but it isn’t restful. Natasha wakes up two or three times, cold sweat gradually building, each time she’s too exhausted to do more than shift to a more comfortable position and be pulled back into another nightmare. 

In her dreams, David is there, screaming in her ear with the hellish sound of an omnic. She’s swept away by a tidal wave of blood and each time she reaches out to catch an outstretched hand, metal claws are ripping her arms away. Her parents are screaming ‘murderer’ as a swarm quickly closes in on them.

Natasha doesn’t quite realize she’s awake for a few minutes after the last dream. And when she does, she lets out a long sigh and wipes away the fresh tears. Her body entire body aches, tired of the constant punishments, and is far too stiff for her liking. With a deep breath, Natasha slowly swing her legs over the side of her bed and gradually pulls herself up to sit on the edge of her bed. Her arms are shaking by the time she’s raised herself up. Getting to her feet is just as slow and difficult. Her calves sting with overworked muscles, her knees nearly buckle and she’s made aware of a few blisters on the heel and ball of her feet. She wonders idly how long her body has been aching, whether it’s been weeks that she’s ignored or if it’s fresh. By the look of the blisters, probably longer than she likes. 

When she rubs her forehead, it feels hot to the touch. Natasha ignores it, ignores the way the room gives a slow spin when she pads quietly out of the room. She can’t stop wincing from the too-bright lights of the hallway, but she forces herself to keep moving, lengthening her gait to stretch out her legs as she does so. 

Natasha wanders aimlessly, turning whatever corner fancies her, wandering in and out of other bays until she wanders into the cafeteria. It’s quiet, only a few people here chatting in hushed whispers. Coffee springs to her mind, but she denies it, instead heading outside where the snow is gone but the bite of cold air isn’t. 

While the cold is good to clear her mind of a fever’s haze, it brings her attention back to her bodily aches. She only spends a few minutes outside before returning inside, with her mind clear again, Natasha heads for her team’s locker room. She makes a beeline for the first-aid kit, noting what supplies they’ll need to restock soon and snags a painkiller. They’re a higher grade, usually requiring a prescription, but Overwatch is good about taking care of its people. As long as they can manage their intake, which Natasha strives to do. While she’s here, she takes inventory of their first-aid kit and is pleasantly surprised to see that it’s already been restocked. Natasha knows this because they only had half a roll of compression tape left and now they had three full rolls stuffed inside the kit. 

With nothing else to do except wait for the painkiller to do its job, Natasha decides to stand in the shower until it wakes her fully. She winds up falling asleep standing up, snapping back awake just before she’s about to lean far enough to the side to fall. She groans, scrubs her face, twists the knob until the cold pierces her skin and then abruptly shuts the stream off. It works, she feels wide awake now and only a little achy. She takes her time to pat herself dry with the fluffy towels Overwatch supplies. Getting dressed is easier than it was to get undressed, which she’s thankful for. 

Yadav enters the locker room just as Natasha is pulling on a long-sleeved shirt. Natasha notices how Yadav stops to appreciate what little flesh is on display before moving to her own locker. She can’t say that she minds the attention, and since Yadav hasn’t shown any interest in pursuing a relationship with Natasha, she feels mostly at ease with the older woman’s attraction. 

“How’d you sleep?” Yadav asks as she starts undressing. 

“Alright, woke up a little early and walked around. You?” Natasha shrugs as she taps away at her phone, not really paying attention to what she’s doing.

“I slept pretty well…” Yadav trails off as though she has something more to say, so Natasha waits patiently, “Are you still meeting Mechanic for lunch?” 

Natasha considers saying no, after all he _did_ lead them into a trap, but… “I will. He has some answers to give.” Yadav hums in agreement at that.

“How do you think Belikov feels about it?” The question is quiet and tentative, but Natasha can’t help but bristle at it.

What the fuck does it matter? She thinks harshly, and then guilt seeps in when she realizes that she’s been pocking around in Edgar’s profile on FaceNet. 

“He has Vega’s shoulder to cry on.” Natasha strains herself to remain neutral as she exits out of the program after seeing a few pictures of him and Vega looking a little too chummy for her tastes. 

Yadav lets out a huff and turns to face Natasha, who pretends to be interested in her phone. “I was talking about the betrayal of Mechanic?” 

Natasha blinks, oh. “He’s probably just as upset as everyone else is. He’s not going to approve of my meeting with Mechanic, so I won’t say anything to him. Or anyone else, for that matter.” 

Natasha looks at Yadav who frowns at her, “You shouldn’t be keeping secrets from the team.” 

The way Yadav says that, with a quiet accusation, gets Natasha’s full attention. They stare at one another, Yadav with a critical look and Natasha with alarm. 

Natasha’s eyes narrow, mind working in overtime. Could Yadav be digging for information to use? Was she told about the mole, too? But why wouldn’t Captain Orswell say anything? What angle was Yadav working from and how could Natasha figure it out without outright asking?

Natasha puts her phone down slowly, eyes trailing the mostly empty room, “So you want me to tell the team that I’m meeting with the guy that fucked us over?” She asks the question slowly and deliberately, her eyes coming back to Yadav with a raised brow.

“To find out why, yes! Unless you’re meeting him for another reason?” Yadav accuses. 

Natasha shakes her head, “No other reason. But fine, if it makes you happy I’ll talk with the team before I go.” 

Yadav gives her a sharp nod, “Good. But that’s not all the secrets you’ve been keeping.” 

“And you’ve been keeping some as well, haven’t you?” It’s Natasha’s turn to accuse Yadav, shooting a harsh glare her way, “What the hell were you doing yesterday?” 

“Finding our Captain, duh!” Yadav replies, crossing her arms over her chest.

“And besides that? That nasty surprise they were talking about?” Natasha pushes. 

Yadav doesn’t answer for a moment, driving Natasha’s suspicion through the roof, but   
before Natasha can open her mouth, Yadav answers, “Have you heard of Blackwatch?” 

Natasha pauses, the question throwing her off guard, “Era mentioned it once. Something about espionage?” 

Yadav nodded, “It’s Overwatch’s best kept secret. They’re down in the tunnels, I know it! And they’re hiding something down there that I doubt even Strike Commander Morrison knows about.” 

“And you were…?” Natasha raises a brow, “Trying to hack into their system?”

Yadav blushes, momentarily distraction Natasha by how pretty it looks, “Well, how else am I supposed to gather information about them?” Yadav half-demands. 

“Probably not with your phone if they are Overwatch’s best kept secret.” Natasha retorts with a roll of her eyes. 

“Speaking of which, they never gave it back to me so you’re going to have to do the dirty work here.” Yadav tells her.

Natasha runs a hand through her hair, “Alright, a new trick to learn, then?” Yadav gives her another nod and pats her shoulder consolingly.

“It will be difficult at first, but easy and incredibly addicting once you get the hang of it.” Yadav assures her. 

Though Yadav has an understandable alibi, Natasha doesn’t quite buy it and wonders if Yadav is setting her up for something. She doesn’t voice her concerns though, because if Yadav really _is_ the mole, Natasha can’t have her mission exposed so soon.


	11. Playdate With The Big Kids Part 2.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trust issues are in the air~~~

When the others eventually make their way to the locker room, getting dressed a little more sluggishly than normal, there’s a noticeable tension in the room with odd looks being traded. Edgar, for his part, doesn’t even look at Natasha, instead whispering casually to Vega and Vern. 

Vern gives a shrug of his shoulders and Natasha can just barely hear, “We’ll ask her.”   
Natasha looks away just as Edgar looks over. 

“So, are you fucking Mechanic again, or what?” Comes Vega’s crass demand only seconds later.

Natasha rolls her eyes so hard it actually hurts, “No, I’m not fucking him.” She spits.

“But you are going to see him for lunch, right?” Thompson steps in with concern written all over his face.

Natasha gets the distinct feeling that he doesn’t quite trust her. It hurts a little, but Natasha won’t blame him for it. 

“Yes,” Natasha gives him a slow nod, “To see if I can get some answers about what happened. To see why he would lure us into a trap like that. He _has_ to have gained something out of it.” 

“And how do we know you’re not just setting us up for something again?” Vega demands, “You showed up with him out of the fucking blue and then our entire mission gets fucked sideways? That doesn’t add up to.” She points out, her expression twisting with anger. 

Natasha curls her lip in response, but Vega has a point. 

“It does sound suspicious…” Chang chimes in, which truly cements how badly the situation looks for Natasha. 

Natasha takes in a deep breath and looks around at her teammates, each of them are giving her some form of an expectant look. 

“Alright. How do you propose this meeting goes then?” Natasha looks to Vega, reminding herself that starting a fight wouldn’t be a good idea. 

Vega sneers in response, “Wear an earpiece so we can hear the conversation? Seems like the easiest solution here.” Natasha doesn’t need to hear the insult to know that it’s there. 

“And if he picks up on it?” Natasha retorts with a frown.

“Figure it out. You’re smart. You can work around it.” Vern answers for Vega. 

“Fine, but it can’t be a two-way communication. If I hear any of you, it’ll be a distraction and he’s sure to notice.” Natasha says.

“That sounds fine with me.” Vern says, looking around the room to make sure everyone agrees, “That settles our plan then.” 

“Great.” Natasha lets out a slow breath. 

While she was toying with the idea of bending Mechanic over and making him her bitch, it seems like that would have to wait. If the possibility of the fantasy coming to fruition even existed still. 

Captain Orswell arrives not much later, giving them all the stink-eye when he walks into the room. He snarls their morning exercise, pushing them harder than he had in the past few weeks and not letting a single error or slip-up go unpunished.

There is no question to whether or not he’s angry with their performance yesterday, but Natasha wonders if there’s also anger at the mole, whoever they are. 

By the time Captain Orswell lets them break for breakfast, the team is noticeably wiped out, which is a good cover for Yadav and Natasha when they lag behind the group. The Captain doesn’t even notice when they slip away.

“Okay, you’ll have to start now, follow my directions carefully or we’ll be screwed.” Yadav instructs in a rushed whisper as they pick up a fast-paced walk. 

Natasha grits her teeth against warring muscles that demand a rest, and follows Yadav’s instructions to the ‘T’. For the most part, it’s fairly simple. The only issue Natasha has is with ensuring that the code Yadav supplies is written exactly how she says. It’s not an easy thing, typing and walking, but Natasha manages to break into the security camera’s around the armory, punching in another code supplied by Yadav that would keep them from showing up in the security feed. 

“Okay, you’ll need to keep an eye on that and fuss with the code. I’ll slip in and grab what we need.” Yadav tells her. 

Natasha frowns at that, not really trusting Yadav as she probably should, but she doesn’t argue, simply nods and keeps an eye on the camera feed. It’s much more difficult than Yadav made it seem, which makes Natasha wonder how much and how often she toyed with the security cameras here. Surely someone would have noticed by now? 

With Yadav gone, it’s easy to question her motives. Unfortunately, Natasha can’t watch the feed _and_ ensure that it remains clear of anyone sneaking around in the armory and spy on Yadav. And she does have to fuss with the code that wants to bend and break and restore the camera feed. There’s nothing to do but speculate and Natasha _hates_ it. 

Yadav doesn’t take her time though, quickly slipping back beside Natasha just around the corner of the armor with a bag slung over her shoulder. She’s also tapping away on what looks to be a suspiciously new phone. 

“Helping yourself?” Natasha asks with a raised brow, only taking the time to glance at Yadav before focusing back on her own phone. 

“Hey, they were never going to give me back my old phone and you know I’ll be an agent before I get a new one!” Yadav defends herself with a smile and then instructs Natasha on how to smoothly return the feed back to normal as they make their way to the cafeteria. 

“What all else did you manage to grab?” Natasha takes a peak at the bag, a popular over-the-shoulder style with a relatively small pouch. It has Overwatch’s insignia on the shoulder strap. 

“A new set of long-range coms, a few smoke bombs, some trap-nets and a few technically-still-in-development-toys-that-haven’t-been-properly-tested-yet things.” Yadav says so quickly that it takes Natasha few minutes to realize what she’s said.

“Really? We’re using shit that hasn’t passed through R&D yet?” Natasha hisses, leaning closer to Yadav to keep prying ears from hearing her. 

“Relax, I only grabbed a few things that are only a few months away from being officially released.” Yadav hisses back, bumping Natasha’s arm with hers. 

Of course, Natasha rolls her eyes, they’re practically _safe_ to use. But there’s not going back now, so Natasha lets out a sigh and walks as confidently as she can beside Yadav. 

They manage to make it to breakfast with time to spare, both quickly grabbing easy-to-eat meals and sliding into the two free chairs at their team’s table. 

“You guys really pushed it.” Era mumbles into his cup, half-finished breakfast in front of him.

“Hey, at least with it being Blakhart, people will just think it was a quick fuck.” Vega snickers. 

“Hardy-har-har,” Natasha sneers, “Do you want a new comm unit or not?” 

That gets the comm units passed around quickly, Yadav shoving the smoke grenades into Era’s hands and passing the trap-nets over to Thompson. The ‘Still-technically-in-development-toys’, as Yadav likes to call them, get passed around so that everyone has something to use. 

Era winds up passing Natasha a smoke grenade in trade for one of the unofficial toys. According to Yadav, it’s supposed to slow pursuers down, and it comes with a warning to not breathe it in and to seek immediate medical assistance should the effects last longer than two hours. 

There’s also an overpowered taser that Chang gets to try out, but Natasha sees her set it on the lowest setting. Yadav isn’t entirely sure what else it’s supposed to do, which might make it their most dangerous weapon, and why Chang gets to use it instead of Vega. 

“It’s not like I would purposefully kill someone with it.” She grumbles, reassuring no one on the team. 

The team is at least smart enough to pass around their new gadgets well out of sight of anyone else in the cafeteria, including Captain Orswell. 

Natasha isn’t sure what else Yadav grabbed, but she doesn’t get the chance to ask before Captain Orswell is stomping over to their team. 

“Alright, Cadets,” He doesn’t even have to give the order before everyone is lined up neatly, but they get no approval from him this time, “Today, you’re against a graduated team of Agents. All I can say is that you’d better be prepared because if I die within the first hour this mission starts, there will be consequences.” 

 

 

 

 

Their first introduction of the enemy team of Agents is when one of them manages to disarm Chang and steal her unsanctioned taser. The team is one that had graduated a few months ago that had yet to be moved to a different location. Their only saving grace was a smoke bomb hastily dropped aside a trap-net. How none of their team got trapped aside the enemy is a bit of a miracle.

They even get a begrudging approval in the form of a disgusted eye-roll from Captain Orswell when the first hour mark passes. 

“Don’t think you’ve made up for your disgraceful performances these past few days!” He barks at them when they get a little too comfortable for his liking. 

Still, they’re doing better and lasting longer against the team of Agents than they expected. Especially considering the little amount of information Natasha has on them, much to her team’s disappointment. All things considered, it’s quite the feat when the team manages to last through lunch, the enemy team finally getting the upper hand just two hours before dinner. 

The entire team lay in a heap in the locker room where the Agents had jokingly deposited them after giving Captain Orswell a gentle tap on the shoulder. One of the Agents had a prototype gadget as well, though theirs were apparently sanctioned, that had left them immobile. It was an entirely strange and disconcerting feeling, not being able to move and yet not being numb. Natasha hated it. There were fresh bruises and bumps on all of them, but the Agents had congratulated them on lasting as long as they had. 

“Man, we even had a guy on the inside!” Natasha hears one of the Agents whisper to another.

“I know, we need to practice more as a team…” Their whispers disappear when the door to the locker room closes. 

“Did any of you hear that?” Natasha asks when it’s clear that Captain Orswell would not be joining them in the locker room. 

“About the guy on the inside?” Era growls roughly, pulling himself from the pile when he’s able to move again. 

The rest of the team is slow to do the same, groaning all the while. They stare at one another in suspicion. 

“So which one of you fucks is sabotaging us?!” Vega snarls with a threatening stance.

“First one to point the finger is usual guilty.” Natasha sneers, though a part of her does doubt that Vega would leak any information to the enemy.

“And what about the tech gurus? You could be constantly contacting our enemies and giving away vital information!” Thompson snaps back at Natasha and Yadav. 

“Well what about you?” Yadav retorts, “You’re young and eager to move up the ranks! Are we really sure you’re concerned with Overwatch or maybe Talon?” She drops the big bomb, this is no longer just about practice, but about an actual double-agent. 

The room goes silent at the accusation. Thompson’s eyes are wide in shock, his mouth gaping open. 

“W-what? Talon?! Why would I-“ 

“Thompson would never align himself with those terrorists!” Chang steps in front of Thompson when his words fail him. 

“You’re pretty quick to defend him, how do we know you two aren’t working together?” Edgar shouts. 

“They did join at the same time.” Vern confirms their suspicions. 

Chang and Thompson take an uneasy step back, Chang moving herself to block Thompson from the rest of the team. 

“Easy!” Era jumps in between Chang and Vega when the latter moves forward, “Do you hear yourselves! We have no evidence that anyone _here_ is leaking information outside. And you,” He points angrily at Yadav, “that is a serious accusation. You don’t just throw those around without solid evidence or you’re putting someone innocent at risk for more than just a slap on the wrist!” Yadav glares at him, but backs down.

“But clearly _someone_ is giving away vital information.” Vern states firmly. 

The room descends into a quiet, contemplative tension. No one moves, eyes darting from one person to another. In the back of her mind, Natasha is fascinated by how quickly they were all willing to turn on one another, including herself. It either showed that they were guilty and trying to cover their tracks, or they were truly dedicated to Overwatch and what the organization stood for. 

Right now, it was difficult to tell which. 

“Are we even sure it’s one of us?” Chang offers to the tense quiet. 

That is a rather interesting question, Natasha thinks to herself. It’s not like they all kept to themselves, there was bound to be chatter making its way outside of their team. Before any of them can think further on the matter, Captain Orswell storms into the room. 

Though, it isn’t quite the stomping they’re used to hearing. He’s uncharacteristically quiet as he sweeps into the room, but the glare twisting his expression has them snapping to attention, and sweating at the thought of their punishment. 

Captain Orswell is slow to walk up and down their carefully and hastily formed line, his glare making them shrink, though Vern, Era and Vega manage to keep eye-contact until he passes them. 

“I was almost proud of you,” He growls lowly, and Natasha almost has to strain to hear him, “ _Almost_ , but then _someone_ had to go and steal from the bloody armory!” His voice raises to a roar, reminding Natasha of the training they went through to get here.

No one flinches, but no one can look him in the eyes either. 

“Now that wouldn’t have been so bad if you hadn’t of gotten caught! And now I have Strike Captain _Amari_ on my ass demanding to know what kind of Cadets I’m training!” He yells at them, “And what kind of Cadets _am_ I training?” The question is noticeably quieter and he stops his slow pacing, looking at them with such disgust that it hurts. 

“Well?!” He snaps when no one answers, “I’ll tell you what kind of Cadets I’m training! I’m training Cadets who are going to wish that they weren’t stupid enough to break into restricted areas and _steal_ from their superiors! I’m training Cadets who are sorely going to wish that they hadn’t made the mistake of joining Overwatch!” 

 

 

 

 

Captain Orswell makes good on his threat, running them through various, intense exercises and increasingly bizarre scenarios. At one point they were throwing one another into each other’s arms, with specific instructions from Captain Orswell that the ‘throwee’ act more like a sack of potatoes and be entirely useless during the throw and catch. Sometimes they were thrown from a point slightly higher or lower than the group or person that caught them. They also practiced doing ‘The Lift’, a famous move from a movie called _Footloose_ with Captain Orswell barking at them to spin in circles while holding their partner. Natasha is certain that the only reason no one was _purposefully_ dropped was due to the Captain watching them with a glare that promised a punishment much worse than this. Still, there were few successful ‘Lifts’. 

Captain Orswell works them right up until dinner, and then instructs them to wait in the training room until he comes back. The tension in the room is palpable despite their earlier exercises. There’s still a question lingering in the air of where everyone’s loyalty lies. 

Vega, at least, seems to trust Edgar just fine, barking at him to help her stretch out. He doesn’t even hesitate. Natasha ignores them, focusing on her own stretching until Chang quietly asks for assistance in stretching out her legs. She just can’t say no to her, not when Chang is practically begging Natasha with her eyes. 

Having a soft spot for one of her team members is dangerous, Natasha thinks to herself as she leans against Chang’s leg, stretching it over her head and pushing just a little more when her leg refuses to bend any further. Natasha thinks about how Chang could be the mole. She’s made herself out to be the most charismatic among them, the one that doesn’t get into fights or ends them with a few soft words. And yet she’s incredibly capable of fighting, and her aim is impressive with most weapons, though she could use a bit of work with knives despite her exemplary hand-to-hand combat. 

As Natasha moves to the other leg, she thinks about how close Chang has become with everyone. It’s a cushy place to be with the entire team’s trust. And when Chang thanks her with such a genuine sincerity… it makes Natasha just a little more suspicious of her. At the very least, Chang repays the favor, though she’s not nearly as gentle with pushing Natasha’s legs further than they want to go. Natasha has to tap out with each leg, and Chang lectures her for it, saying that it was important to stay limber and flexible. Chang is right, Natasha admits, but does she _really_ need to be able to put her foot behind her head? Natasha doesn’t really think there’s much place for contortionists in Overwatch, but she could be wrong. 

Captain Orswell returns before anyone is finished stretching with a tray of tall, thick glasses filled with what looks like smoothies made out of grass and charcoal. 

“Alright, Cadets! Drink up! You’re going to need all the energy you can get if you want to survive until tomorrow!” His warning makes them nervous and hesitant to grab a drink, but his glare gets them moving before he can spit out any harsh insults. 

The smoothie, which too thick to drink with a straw, tastes like dirt, chalk and cardboard mixed together and is that a hint of ration-bars? Natasha takes a deep breath and chugs the damn drink because there’s no way she’ll be able to finish it otherwise.

Thompson stares at her in horror, but then Era chops him on the back, “Better start chugging, kid!” He can’t help but gag.

Something that doesn’t escape Captain Orswell’s notice, “You got something to say about my cooking, Cadet?!” He snarls, stomping up to Thompson who looks like he might just vomit and cry at the same time.

“No, Sir!” Thompson shouts and tips back the glass until it’s empty as Captain Orswell watches, “It was delicious, Sir!” He winces a second later, holding the side of his head.   
“So delicious you’ll give yourself a damned brain-freeze is right, Cadet!” Captain Orswell shouts back.

Thompson isn’t the only one who suffers, Natasha, Vega and Edgar do as well. Yadav and Chang don’t seem too bothered by the taste, which is annoying even to Captain Orswell who promises that their breakfast batch will be even better. He then starts a ten-minute warm-up for another round of punishment that lasts until two O’clock in the morning. 

 

 

 

 

When Natasha gets up to answer the door the next morning, she isn’t surprised to see David there with a warm smile.

“Come on in,” She moves aside to let him in and then they’re sitting at the table, catching up on lost time. 

“Is Overwatch everything you dreamed it would be?” David asks with a teasing smile.

Natasha scoffs and rolls her eyes, “Haven’t really gotten to that part yet. It’s all training right now.” 

“I’m surprised you’re working so well with a team,” He admits, stirring some sugar into his coffee. 

Half of his jaw plops into the cup as he raises it to his mangled mouth. He looks at her with one glowing, red eye that stares through her. His tongue lulls out of the side of his open mouth lazily and Natasha almost scolds him for it. 

“I work with them well enough.” She defends herself. She can’t take her eyes off of that one red orb.

Its light is covering the room in an eerie glow.

David sighs a gurgling sound that’s accompanied by a spray of fresh blood, “This isn’t how I died. You can't avoid the truth. You're the one who killed me.” 

Natasha frowns at that, “What do you mean-“

A bullet digs through the back of her skull as another shoots straight through her torso. Both bullets tear into David, one taking the red eye with it and the other piercing his heart. The burning sear in her head and chest is nothing compared to the pain of watching her brother be catapulted backwards, over the edge of a cliff. She screams, and it rings so loudly in her ears that it _hurts_ , but she doesn’t stop, not even as she forces her too-slow body to get out of the _fucking chair and-_

Natasha jerks awake and then hisses at the stinging pain of a headache. Right where the bullet tore through her skull. Quietly and as slowly as she can manage, Natasha swings her legs over the bed. She doesn’t bother checking to see if anyone else was awake, she doesn’t see Vega’s head perk up nor her eyes following her out of the room.  
Thankfully, her headache is gone by the time their morning punishment comes around, but their breakfast shake is even harder to stomach than their previous dinner shake. Everyone is looking a little green by the time their finished. 

“Alright, now that you’re all good an energized, let’s get to our day. For your next exercise we would have used paint-ball guns to make it a little fun! Give you all a little pep in your step. _Unfortunately_ ,” Captain Orswell grinds the word out hard enough to make them cringe, “As a punishment, you will not be allowed to use them. Instead you’ll be using _Nerf_ guns that only have a maximum range of twenty-feet.” Captain Orswell tells them.

There are a few frowns filled with disappointment at learning what they’d screwed themselves out of.

“Under _no_ circumstances are _any **other** weapons allowed._ ” He growls after he’s given them a moment to process that.

There’s another pause that’s a bit longer than the first and Vern is the first to lose his patience, “Who will be our enemy, Sir?” 

“I am so glad you asked, Cadet.” Captain Orswell grins in a way that makes them all distinctly uncomfortable, “I have no idea.” 

“What?” Vega gasps before the silence has another chance to sneak in, “Sir? How can you not know?” 

Captain Orswell sneers at her, “Because, _Cadet._ You won’t always know who the enemy is or where they’ll come from. You’ll all _need_ to be prepared for anything and everything when you’re out on a mission. Am I clear, Cadets?” 

“Yes, Sir!” The team shouts. 

 

 

 

As it turns out, the Nerf guns they’re supplied with have, at best, a ten-foot range if accuracy is something that matters. After that, the shot is guaranteed to miss. Natasha finds this out the hard way, as does Chang and Era. The three of them are the first to get hit by the enemy, who all have Nerf guns with a much higher range and accuracy than they do. 

Which is only fair, Natasha thinks as she waits for her ten minutes to be done. They agreed to leave her and Chang behind so that they could effectively cover the team’s rear when they caught up. Edgar was supplying them with their location through a code that he and Natasha used on many jobs together.

It was their best bet at keeping the enemy uninformed, should they have hacked into their comm line. 

The enemy, who seems to be a large group of Agents and Cadets chosen at random.

Natasha lets out a sigh and checks the time; two minutes left. Chang looks over her shoulder at the time as well and lets out an equally impatient sigh. 

“Do you think that we will be able to win this time?” Chang asks to fill the final moments of silence before they have to move. 

Natasha shrugs at that, lifting her ‘pistol’ with an unimpressed frown, “With these? I doubt it. But, if a miracle happens?” She gives another shrug. 

Her phone beeps at her, informing the duo that their time is up. 

“I will fall back behind you and watch your back, just in case they try to ambush us and keep us down.” Chang tells her before they move. 

Natasha turns away from Chang, hiding her frown from the other woman, “Sounds good. Hopefully our system is working and they won’t know where we’re coming from.” 

It comes as no surprise when Natasha is ambushed halfway to the Captain, but she can’t help but be a little shocked when Chang practically flies in just in time to shoot an enemy that had a ‘rifle’ pointed at her back. The Nerf guns are relatively quiet, when compared to actual guns, but she still hears it go off and twists around to see another enemy getting ready to shoot Chang. There’s no time to think, just act, and Natasha manages to land a hit on the enemy’s leg, and then another on their chest, and a third that smacks them in the cheek.   
“A little overkill much, Blakhart?” He gripes, rubbing his cheek, “One shot is good enough.” 

Chang gives him a gentle pat on the shoulder and an apologetic smile for Natasha, “Just be glad she could not aim properly and hit you in the eye.” 

“Let’s move.” Natasha tells Chang, taking her attention away from the enemy and reminding her of the task at hand. 

She didn’t comment about her lack of aim or that the comment actually stung a little. After all, they were using _Nerf Guns_. They might as well have been unarmed. She instead focuses on that mindless feeling of _protect the teammate_. Regardless to her own suspicions, they have a job to do and Natasha will be damned before she lets it go sideways because of a little paranoia. 

That being said, she couldn’t help but keep an eye out for Chang in her peripheral vision. 

Shockingly, they manage to catch back up with Captain Orswell and the rest of their team without issue, she and Edgar exchanging victorious glances when the enemy had yet to ambush them after that. Their luck did not last much longer than two hours.

And then Vega ran out of ammo, to which Captain Orswell had one thing to say, “Oh well, Cadet.” 

So Vega started punching, which made her a primary target for their mysterious enemies, but for some unfortunate ‘civilians’, she became an unwarranted attacker. Any time she hit someone who wasn’t a direct threat to them, she and one other teammate were taken out, bringing down their escort team four people.

On the one hand, Vega made for an excellent distraction, and on the other? She was quickly becoming a nuisance. It made Natasha wonder if she was sabotaging them on purpose, she even caught Era giving Vega looks of suspicion, eyebrows raised in question of her actions.

Vern had given them all a look of quiet acceptance, at the very least Vega’s antics had a tendency to draw out their actual enemy. Although, it was not a tactic that they would be able to use in a _real_ mission. Captain Orswell had made sure to make that very clear to them.

Still, they managed to make it to dinner, Thompson and Vern escorting Captain Orswell to his preferred table while the rest of the team was busy throwing their empty ‘guns’ at the enemy or unloading their last clips in a madly desperate effort to keep their payload safe and secure.

In the end, Thompson took a bullet for Captain Orswell. Edgar, Chang and Vega had all been shot with the other half of the team giving them ‘medical treatment’. 

Captain Orswell had sighed very loudly as he sat down, “Mission complete, Cadets. You survived by the skin of your teeth.” He spat, but looking closely, Natasha could see a bit of pride in his eyes. 

It was gone as quickly as it came.

“Now one of you go get my dinner!” 

They were not allowed to eat any of the cafeteria food. Captain Orswell had given a sharp whistle and they had all stood at attention while he leisurely ate away at a large bowl of beef stew and a few slices of bread. He congratulated them on a job done mediocrely, and then proceeded to tear into each of them on where they went wrong and how to improve. Though he wasn’t quite loud, it was still… embarrassing. They each thanked him for his critiques and vowed to do better next time.

“Oh, you bet your asses you lot will! Now come on, I’ve got shakes waiting for you all. Seems to be the only thing ensuring that you’ll all actually _complete_ the mission.” Captain Orswell grumbled as he stalked off, the team following obediently behind him. 

This shake was worse than the last, Natasha thinks to herself as it slides quickly over her tongue and down her throat. It’s not cold, having been left out for who knows how long, and that somehow makes the taste even worse. Captain Orswell refuses to give any of them a straw, calling it a handicap that none of them needed. Natasha desperately wants to disagree, but he’s still scowling at them like they have a punishment waiting for them after dinner. 

Not one of them makes it through the entire shake without choking on the taste at least once, and their suffering is the only thing that makes Captain Orswell smile. Chang looks like that makes all of this worth it, beaming at him and complimenting his choice of adding kale to the smoothie, god knows how she could tell. Captain Orswell accepts the praise more readily than any of them were prepared for, thanking Chang sweetly.

Hell, even _Chang_ looks shocked and she’s the one who gave him the damned compliment in the first place! 

And then he says it, “I hope it’s filled you lot up, cause we’ve got another exhausting exercise before bed! Can’t risk changing any habits now that you’ve finally shown some promising progress!” He claps his hands together with a slightly maniacal look in his eyes.

 

 

 

Despite how sore and tired her body was Natasha couldn’t relax enough to fall asleep. Her skin itched and her muscles ached, begging for her to move even though she knew she needed rest. Her chest felt tight, and no matter how much she planned out the next few days, thinking about anything and everything that could happen, even her own discharge from Overwatch and any contingency plans from there, put her at ease. With a slow sigh, Natasha gave up on the idea of getting any sleep and instead left her team’s Bay. She paced more than wandered, looking around every corner, peering over her shoulder, when there weren’t enough people around. 

Every now and again she caught sight of _something_ just on the edges of her vision, teasing her with glimpses of something distinctly metallic. _Threatening_ her. She bared her teeth at the unseen threat when no one was around to see, even though _logically_ she knew there was nothing there and eventually made her way over to the field. This late at night it was deserted, which was good. The chill night air made her feel a little better, but it just wasn’t enough. With a growl, she tugged her hand through her hair, her body craving a partner to take her mind off whatever was bothering it.

Natasha closed her eyes and sighed through her nose. She knew what was bothering her, she just didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to think about it- about _him_. She carved her hand through her hair again as that thought tortured her, nails digging into her scalp.

She made a mental note to cut them soon, make them blunt and useless again. 

Captain Orswell’s voice came to her then, whispering into her ear to run and even though she knew it was just a figment of her own mind, offering a solution, she obeyed. Natasha started at a light jog, making her strides long to stretch out her legs before picking up the pace gradually until she was practically sprinting and her heart was beating too fast and she could feel teeth nipping at her heels and gears whirring in her ears, far too high-pitched to be _real_ but it was in her ears, clawing at her back, metal fingers _stabbing-_

Natasha’s foot catches on nothing, sending her flailing to the ground with a panicked, strangled scream. Her hands fly out to stop her fall, and though they do, she can feel the flesh scratched and scraped, stinging painfully and for a brief moment that panic overtakes her, and she’s scrambling to reach David, to pull him down, to-

“Fall much, Blakhart?” A voice, familiar and nagging, cuts through her thoughts.

A hand, cold with winter’s chill reaches out and grabs her flailing one, roughly pulling her to her feet. Natasha greedily sucks in as much air as she can and releases it too quickly, coughing and bending over with the weight of her failures. Another cold hand slaps her back and the sting there reminds her of a time where she was tangled with another just some time ago. 

“Come on, breathe, you moron!” Vega grumbles, her grip on Natasha’s hand tight and unyielding, not matter how much Natasha tries to tug away. 

It only takes Natasha a moment to realize that struggling is useless, to recognize the burn in her lungs and remind herself that yes, she does need to breathe. So she does, taking in deep breaths and letting them out slowly until she’s back at the Overwatch base. Back in reality. 

“There, that’s it. Keep breathing.” It takes Natasha another moment to realize that Vega is talking to her, has been talking to her, is _still_ talking to her, “If Captain Orswell catches you out here like this, you know he’ll just keep running you until you die. And then Team Captain Orswell will get a new name because we’ll have to honor your stupid ass for dying during training and be Team Blakhart. Which honestly sounds cool, but I’ll fucking die before I join a team named after your skank-ass.” 

“Fuck you.” Natasha spits and then Vega lets her go, “You’re just jealous.” 

Vega scoffs at that and rolls her eyes with a sneer, “Good to see you’re back with the living.” 

Natasha frowns, brows drawing forward as she takes a step back from Vega, “Thanks.” She mumbles, not sure where to go from here.

Vega is still standing there, looking like they should be having a jovial conversation, but Natasha can’t think of anything else to say. It’s awkward. Natasha looks away from Vega, she looks at the buildings, at the field, at the main building, anywhere but Vega with her sad eyes filled with pity. Natasha doesn’t need _pity,_ damnit. 

“Where did you go?” Vega finally asks just when Natasha is about to flee somewhere else on base, anywhere but here. 

Natasha lets out a huff, crossing her arms as she turns back to Vega, “What does it matter?” 

In Vega’s eyes there’s… understanding. Natasha doesn’t want to think about why Vega would understand, though. It just… reminds her of things she doesn’t want to think about. 

Vega stares at her expectantly, waiting for an answer that Natasha doesn’t want to give. In the back of her mind, she remembers her therapist urging her to talk about her experiences in the military with others, to not keep it all bottled up, but the words stick to her throat. 

“Around the base, for a walk.” Natasha answers when Vega is still staring and waiting, purposefully misunderstanding Vega’s question. 

Vega hadn’t meant physically. 

With a harsh roll of her eyes, Vega confirms Natasha’s assumption. “No shit, dumbass! God, I swear if you become a fucking liability-“

“I won’t!” Natasha cuts Vega off with a shout and Vega sneers in disgust. 

“Yeah?” Vega takes a threatening step forward that has Natasha pivoting her body to face her, “You really think you’re just gonna be fine on our mission? Look at you!” She waves a hand in a motion that more resembles her earlier punching, “You’re barely keeping yourself together without someone holding your hand!” 

Natasha flinches and bares her teeth at the truth, “I’ll be fine!” 

“Will you?” Vega challenges, “Prove it! Prove it to me right now!” 

Natasha doesn’t need another invitation, launching herself at Vega with a fist that she dodges, placing a hand on Natasha’s shoulder and pushing her forward while hooking her foot under Natasha’s, sending her sprawling to the ground. But Vega doesn’t stop there, pulling her foot back for a kick that Natasha rolls out of the way of, using the motion to roll back onto her feet, bringing her hands up in front of her chest as she snarls at Vega. 

Vega lets her make the first move again, with Natasha trying to feint to the right, but Vega can read her all too easily, countering her move and landing a solid hit to the chest that knocks the air out of Natasha’s lungs. She barely has anytime to catch her breath before Vega is sweeping a leg under her feet and sending her to the ground again. Vega brings her foot down with a grunt, growling with Natasha catches that foot and twists it away from her, throwing Vega off balance and sending her to the ground as well. 

There’s a scramble between them when Natasha rushes to pin Vega to the ground, both of them throwing punches, some of them landing, some of them not, as they tumble around the track. Natasha manages to clock Vega right on the cheek, but Vega’s arm swings and her fist hits near Natasha’s temple, and it’s hard enough to make the world spin and then Natasha is laying on her stomach with her arm twisted harshly behind her back and Vega’s fingers digging into her wrist and forearm. Natasha cries out in pain, her free hand scratching at the rubber track. 

“This is you handling it?” Vega hisses angrily in her ear, “Cause from where I’m sitting, you look like a useless piece of shit.” 

The words cut deep, but Natasha drowns them out by focusing on her physical pain instead, her mind working on a way to get Vega off of her back. Her mind, unhelpfully, tells her that there’s metal digging into her hand, but she knows it’s just her own nails. Vega is sitting on the back of Natasha legs, her own keeping Natasha from getting a proper grip on the ground with her feet to try and buck her off. 

“Admit it!” Vega yells into the night, “Admit that you’re a fucking useless waste of space!” 

Natasha grounds her face into the track with a groan when Vega pulls her arm further behind her, “Fuck you, I’m a better shot!” She snarls. 

“Anyone can learn how to aim, you walking-mattress!” Vega bites back. 

“And anyone can learn how to throw a punch!” Natasha snaps, “This proves _nothing!_ ” 

“If you were in the right state of mind, I wouldn’t have pinned you in five. _Fucking. Seconds!_ ” Vegas shouts in Natasha’s ear, making her wince and attempt to pull away again. 

Natasha snarls and tries to jerk to arm out of Vega’s tight grasp, but it only results in a sharp pain that she grunts at, “I’ll fucking prove it to you if you fucking get off!” She rages. 

“How?!” Vega demands. 

“The fucking shooting range, how else?!” Natasha snaps, “Because let’s be honest with each other? I’m still a better fucking shot than you.” 

Vega scoffs, but after a moment, she lets go of Natasha, backing away quickly. She’s tense and waiting for Natasha to lash out again, but Natasha sneers and shakes out her arm, rolling her shoulder and grimacing when it stings. 

They stalk quietly in the night, Natasha fuming and Vega sneering, headed back to the main base and to the shooting range. Shockingly, there’s two other people there, another Captain coaching an Agent through using a shotgun. The two peer curiously at Natasha and Vega, but only for a moment before returning back to their own practice. 

A quick glance at the clock above check-in station reveals that it’s 4:07 a.m. Natasha blinks, wondering just how long she was wandering aimlessly around the base, how long she was running around the track before Vega approached her. She’s pulled out of her thoughts when Vega, now scanning her badge at the check-in station curses loudly.

“Sorry,” The agent running the check-in shrugs, “You’ll need your Captain here if you want to use the range.” 

“You try!” Vega pulls Natasha over.

“Yeah, because if you can’t, I sure can.” Natasha grumbles, but pulls out her badge anyway. 

There hadn’t really been any need to use it so far, even though they had all been issued a badge when they graduated to Cadets. But that made sense, after all Captain Orswell had them sticking to their training room and they hadn’t exactly used it properly to access the armory. Still, Natasha gives the badge a half-hearted swipe, unsurprised when the thin light on the card-reader flashes red.

The agent there shakes his head, “Same thing for you.” 

Natasha turns to Vega then, “Well?”

Before Vega can answer, with a side of insult by the way she’s glaring, someone else chimes in, “Oh! If it isn’t my favorite Cadets!” 

Vega’s expression turns damn near murderous, Natasha sighs at that and slowly looks over to Mechanic who looks far too happy to see them. 

“And if it isn’t the _traitor!_ ” Vega hisses.

Mechanic is quick to raise his hands in defense, “It was nothing personal, and technically I wasn’t even on your side.” Though Mechanic says it like a gentle reminder, it rankles both Natasha and Vega. 

“Nothing personal, sure,” Vega spits and crosses her arms, “Nearly getting us kicked out of Overwatch isn’t _personal._ ” Vega leans forward to hiss this through her teeth. 

“That was never my intention.” Mechanic says firmly, lowering his hands, “As a show of good faith, why don’t I oversee your target practice?” He offers, digging his badge out of his back pocket and holding it up for Vega and Natasha to see.

Vega sneers at it, but studies it closely, her eyes darting quickly to Natasha, looking for her opinion. Which is possibly the most shocking thing Vega has ever done. Natasha looks from Vega to the badge to Mechanic. The back of her mind helpfully whispers that she’s too god damned tired for this shit. 

“It’s target practice. What harm could he cause?” Natasha shrugs, her eyes dragging away from Mechanic over to the range. 

“Alright, excuse me, ladies,” Mechanic smoothly squeezes between them, Natasha moving back politely while Vega standing firm, glaring at Mechanic as he passes her. 

One quick swipe of his badge and the agent working the station gives an easy shrug and asks what they want to use. Mechanic doesn’t even ask Natasha or Vega before requesting a long-range rifle with a scope. He handles the large gun with care, choosing a booth on the range that’s on the opposite side of the Captain and Agent before gesturing to Natasha to take her place at the booth.

Natasha sets up quickly, mindlessly choosing a random set of targets at random distances. The range has a pretty impressive length, going as far back as three-hundred feet. Natasha takes her time setting up, letting the familiarity of the motions take over her shaking hands, forcing them to still with an ache. Both Vega and Mechanic watch her with sharp eyes, which is somewhat disconcerting, especially coming from Mechanic, but Natasha brushes their gazes off. Once she’s comfortable, Natasha leans in, peering through the scope and ignoring the shadows in the corner of her eyes. She’s very aware of Vega’s eyes critically analyzing every move she makes, but she ignores that too. Instead she takes in a deep breath, firing off round after round until she needs to reload, and her hands are thankfully steady when she reloads, and continues until she’s hit every target. 

Natasha leans back, throwing the safety on out of habit and twisting the rifle to lay on its side, pointing down range. She ignores the slight aching in her hands, and instead turns to raise a brow at Vega as she hits a button that brings the targets front and center before them. 

Vega glares at them, counting each headshot, each shot to the heart, noting when they aren’t quite hitting the mark or when their just out of bounds and Natasha had to take a second shot. Mechanic leans in as well, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as he examines her shots.

“Your turn, then?” Natasha asks with a frown when Vega says nothing. 

“No. Set up moving targets.” Vega tells her instead, she crosses her arms and leans against the barrier that allows a little space between shooters. 

Mechanic says nothing, apparently content to observe. 

With a long sigh, Natasha does as Vega says, biting her lip to keep back a cutting insult when Vega orders her to up the difficulty to its highest setting. On the other end of the range, she can feel the Captain’s eyes on them, judging them probably. Natasha repeats the motions of setting herself up, peering through the scope and taking a deep breath before firing again and again and again. The targets move quickly, forcing Natasha to shoot where they’re going and not directly at them. They dart in between each other so quickly that Natasha has to take her time to line up the shots, her fingers twitching when she sees red glaring lights in between the targets. 

It’s not there, she tells herself, focusing on the black and white targets. There’s a moment when she sees David’s face, so very clearly, in between to targets that seem to slow to a stop. The targets are on a course to merge, giving her the perfect opportunity, if not for her brother being in the way. Her heart throbs and she clenches her jaw so tightly that it aches.

The last shot rings loudly in her ears and she stills, breath coming out in harsh pants as the targets slow to a stop. Slowly, she backs pulls away from the rifle and then remembers to throw it on safety and point it at the wall on its side. She’s slow to take a step back as Vega hits the button that brings the targets closer. She swallows her disappointment in herself, her work is sloppy, too many missed shots, too many missed opportunities to save a bullet. 

“Not bad.” Vega grumbles in contrast to Natasha’s thoughts when Natasha spots a splatter of fresh blood on two of the targets.

She blinks and its gone. 

“Do you trust that I can handle it now?” Natasha asks, dragging her eyes over to give Vega a weak glare.

Vega frowns tightly at her, and then looks to Mechanic, “What do you think?” 

Mechanic doesn’t take his eyes off the targets and Natasha looks away from him when she sees disappointment there. Who the hell cares what he thinks anyway? She thinks bitterly. It’s not as though he’s her Captain. 

“Let’s do one more round,” Mechanic starts, moving forward to adjust the controls of the targets, “I think you’ll be familiar with this, Blakhart.” 

Natasha is, she realizes as the previous targets disappear into the ceiling and a new set drops down a moment afterwards. One target is brought forward and Mechanic points to a few marked holes in the target that are only visible up close. He numbers each other them and Natasha burns them into her memory. Mechanic gives her one minute to memorize the locations before he sends the target back and begins the exercise. He calls out a number at random and Natasha aims as quickly and accurately as she can to hit the associated hole. The exercise starts out easy enough, but then Mechanic ups the difficulty, making the targets move at high speeds and Natasha finds that it’s much easier to focus on the targets this time around. 

“Impressive.” Mechanic comments after he’s satisfied with her performance and pulls the targets forward. 

Each bullet Natasha fired slipped perfectly into the pre-marked holes. It helps to push back the disappointment of her first rounds with Vega and makes the terrible ache in her hands worth it.

“Now I trust you can handle it.” Vega tells her without heat or insult. 

Natasha stares at her for a moment, almost shocked before she gives a slow nod, “Good.” 

“I’ll put everything away, you guys go ahead and go to your training.” Mechanic tells them, already nudging Natasha out of the way so that he properly dismiss the targets, “Are we still on for lunch?” 

Natasha frowns at Vega’s self-satisfied smirk, “Just lunch, and yes, but I’ll have to re-schedule for the Saturday after. I’ll meet you at Bubbles. I haven’t tried it yet, but their reviews are good enough.” 

And it’s popular during the lunch hour, plenty of public to be around, not very intimate. Mechanic seems fine with the location, if not mildly disappointed with the change in time. 

“Sure, 12 is fine?” Natasha nods her affirmation and then she and Vega leave to meet up with the rest of their team. 

 

 

Back at the training room, she and Vega make it just in time for Captain Orswell to enter the room with another round of his specialty shakes. Thankfully, he hasn’t added anything to make them any worse, but they are still no easier to swallow. 

The day follows similarly to yesterday; they’re given Nerf guns and aren’t told who the enemy is going to be before Captain Orswell announces that the mission has begun. They get ambushed at least three times, but they’re careful about how they spend their ‘ammo’. Era somehow manages to convince Vega to be especially frugal with her ammo, so at least she isn’t punching random people. They even manage to make it to dinner with two people ‘alive’ and unoccupied with playing ‘medic’ to ‘dying’ teammates. Captain Orswell again tells them where they need to improve, and again gives them all one of his home-made shakes and again works them through various drills and exercises until they’re collapsing in their beds. 

Sleep does not come easily for Natasha, who lays staring at the bottom of Yadav’s bed. She’s exhausted. She’s tired. She desperately wants to sleep. Yet every time she closes her eyes, all she sees is David’s mutilated head pressed against a rock before it’s dragged to the ground by a lifeless body. In her ears she hears her mother call her a murderer, hears her father asking if she’s happy. They repeat themselves over and over again until Natasha’s had enough and she’s pulling herself out of bed once more. 

Again, Natasha wanders, dragging her hand through her hair, growling when her fingers get tangled. Her eyes dart to every clock she passes, noting the time and keeping careful watch of it. It helps distract her from the gears whispering in her head, promising a metal shriek should she pay it any mind. 

It’s when she enters a mostly deserted cafeteria that Natasha stops and blinks. Sitting at a table by the windows is Strike Captain Amari and Agent Reinhardt. They’re speaking in soft whispers, Strike Captain Amari’s back to Natasha’s, but by Reinhardt’s expression, they’re probably discussing something personal. Something tender.

The idea twists Natasha’s stomach in knots, so she pivots on her heel, fully intent on finding somewhere else to wander when Reinhardt calls out to her.

“Cadet Blakhart!” He calls again when she stills, a part of her panicking at getting caught wandering around at -her eyes glance at a nearby clock- 1:23 a.m. 

That’s not healthy, that’s something her therapist told her to look out for when she told them that she was ending their sessions. This whole week is something her therapist told her to be mindful of and yet here she is, debating running from people and isolating herself further. 

Natasha turns slowly, a polite smile turning into a nervous and slightly panicked grin when she catches Strike Captain Amari turned around in her seat to hit her with a glare that Natasha can’t quite read. And then she smirks and Natasha’s brain nearly halts, wondering what that kind of look could possibly mean. Nothing but trouble, surely. 

“Ah, Strike Captain Amari,” Natasha nearly stumbles over herself in addressing her superiors, “Lieutenant Reinhardt!” 

“There is no need for that, my friend! Please, come join us!” Even at a mild distance, Reinhardt’s voice booms across the cafeteria. 

“Yes, come join us, Blakhart.” Strike Captain Amari’s voice is gentle, if mischievous and Natasha definitely notes the lack of rank.

But what does it _mean?!_

Natasha hesitates for only a moment, encouraged by Reinhardt’s infections grin and open body language. Her feet carry her, without her permission, to sit at the chair Reinhardt drags out effortlessly for her, so that she’d be sitting equal distance to the two of them. 

“Good…” Natasha glances at the clock again, “Good morning.” Her eyes dart nervously between them, but Strike Captain Amari’s expression is lacking the mischief Natasha swore she saw and Reinhardt’s is just as friendly as ever. 

“Good morning, Blakhart. Care to fill us in on what’s got you wandering around at this hour?” There’s a bit of bite now to Strike Captain Amari’s eyes, her smile sharper. She's practically whispering into Natasha's ears that she already knows.

It makes Natasha hesitate in her answer, “Just… nervous about the mission, Ma’am.” It’s partially true, the timing of the mission is poor, but then again, Natasha had thought she had a better handle on things. 

“Hmmm, it will be your first mission with Overwatch. And your first mission in several years with a larger team than two.” Strike Captain Amari comments casually, but by the way her eyes drag over to Reinhardt’s, Natasha thinks she might be filling him in. 

“Aahh,” Reinhardt gasps, “It is no wonder that you are nervous! Too excited for a good fight with your comrades?” He bares his teeth in his own excitement and pats Natasha’s shoulder with more care than she expected.

“Something like that.” Natasha answers. 

The Strike Captain’s smile is still sharp, making Natasha wonder if she’d said the wrong thing. If she can tell just what exactly is bothering her.

“Well, I must go. I still have work to do before I can retire. Try to get some sleep, both of you.” The Strike Captain Admonishes you lightly before standing from the table and leaving.

There’s an odd silence that fills the air and just as Natasha is about to fill it, a question of why they were both up so late as well on the tip of her tongue, Reinhardt beats her to it.

“What else brings you here at this hour, my friend?” His voice is soft and quiet, gentle and coaxing. 

Natasha raises her eyes from the table to peer curiously at his open and warm expression. There’s a concern in his eyes that reminds Natasha of her father and makes her swallow the guilty feeling rising in her throat. 

With her eyes lowered back to the table, Natasha gives a careless shrug, “Nightmares, the usual.” She says as casually as she can manage. 

“Ah, yes. This life does not come without its burdens…” Reinhardt comments thoughtfully, “Still, it is worth it to keep the world safe, wouldn’t you agree?” 

“I would,” Natasha tells her hands cupped together on the table. She means to continue the conversation, but her words are getting caught in her throat. 

Reinhardt seems to understand, but instead of letting the silence continue, he fills it, “You know, you do not need to carry your burdens alone.” 

Natasha’s head snaps up as she stares at Reinhardt in surprise. He’s not even looking at her though, staring off to the side instead, his eyes seeing something from the past. Of course, he would have his own burdens to bear, but she wasn’t expecting him to openly admit it. To share it with her. Natasha’s mouth hangs open, unsure of what to say. 

“I feel as though we might have had similar battles. You have lost someone dear to your heart?” He turns to her again and the sheer amount of emotion in his eyes frightens her. 

There’s pain and heartbreak there, guilt as well, but beneath all of that is acceptance. 

Natasha takes in a sharp breath, feeling tears beginning to well in her eyes, “Yes.” She answers after a pause, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Almost immediately she’s engulfed in the walls of muscle that make up Reinhardt’s arms, pressed securely against his chest. Natasha is filled with a warmth she hasn’t felt since she last saw her parents and it makes her heart burn with longing. Her expression pinches as she fights tears that threaten drown the entirety of Overwatch. It’s a futile effort though, the tears fall unbidden regardless to her struggles, and her breath breaks into hiccups. Finally she stops fighting it, instead wrapping her arms around whatever she can manage of Reinhardt’s hulking frame and burying her face in his shoulder. Natasha can’t help but feel safe here, like Reinhardt would never let anything hurt her again, so she cries and cries into his embrace. She cries for her brother, dead and broken, for her partner, who she failed just like her brother, and for her parents who she would only ever let down. She would never make them proud. 

Natasha also cries for Edgar, for ruining what they had and for breaking his heart. 

Reinhardt all the while simply rubs her back in a soothing motion and coos softly to her. Whatever he’s mumbling to her is lost, too soft and quiet compared to her cries that sound so loud to her ears. He lets her cry until she’s spent, and then waits until she’s regained control of her breathing before he gives her back to firm pats. 

“What happened?” He asks. 

It’s such a simple question, so simple and stupid, but the answer kills Natasha. But she wants to tell him anyway, because she knows that she needs to talk about it to _someone._ That’s what her therapist had told her, before she gave up her life as a normal civilian. Before she stopped talking to them. 

The words get caught in her throat again and again, but Reinhardt is patient, until finally Natasha croaks out, “I failed my brother.”

He doesn’t ask how or why, he just waits until she can speak again to explain.

“I failed him, I let him… die.” The words are hard to say, her failure difficult to confess, but… “He was my s-spotter. On a mission in… fucking-“ She chokes on another sob that Reinhardt holds her through, “And- and this fucking sniper- _omnic_ sniper-“ Her fingers dig into his shirt, “ _tricked_ me- shot him in the-“ Natasha has to take a few deep breaths, but Reinhardt is ever patient, “… they shot him and then he just… he was gone and I couldn’t- I didn’t-“ It takes Natasha a few more tries before she can say it, “He died. I let him die. I failed him.” 

As a reward for her confession, Reinhardt tightens his grip around Natasha almost painfully and then surprises her with his next words.

“I, too, have let someone down in such a manner.” Reinhardt’s voice is quiet, hushed by guilt and grief, “My leader, back when I was still just a Crusader, Balderich Von Adler… He paid with his life for a mistake I made when I was young and arrogant. Too foolhardy to follow orders properly, or to truly respect my comrades.” 

Natasha sucks in a deep breath and squeezes Reinhardt as hard as she can, wondering if he could even tell. He must, because he gives her back a gentle pat for her efforts and then he pulls her away to look her in the eyes. His eyes are wet with tears as well. 

“You may have failed your brother, but you will _not_ fail the next.” His eyes narrow into a glare as his voice is firm and hard. 

Natasha resists the urge to bite her lip until it bleeds and instead nods obediently at Reinhardt, “I won’t.” She chokes out as a fresh wave of tears follow the others that stained her cheeks. 

Her family now is Overwatch, Natasha decides then. She will _not_ fail them as she did David, as she did Claire. Even if she has to die in their place. 

Reinhardt smiles wide, his eyes filled with pride, “You will make Overwatch proud.” 

Though the night didn’t end there, it passes by in a blur of old stories both glorious and grim passed between Natasha and Reinhardt until Reinhardt manages to persuade Natasha to get a proper rest. And to her surprise, she does. Or at least, Natasha thinks she did. There were no dreams or nightmares for her that night. The next few days pass by quickly as well and Natasha keeps herself from wandering too much at night, despite another round of nightmares. At the very least, they’re more abstract, nothing that she can quite remember, but enough to have her covered in a thin layer of sweat each morning. 

“Good morning, Cadets!” Captain Orswell chirps brightly at them at four in the morning. 

Today is the day that Strike Commander Morrison briefs them on their very first mission. Because of that, Captain Orswell had them dressed in their blue uniforms, ready to go at a moment’s notice. They’re all sitting at an oval desk, chairs swiveled towards the large screen covering one wall where Strike Commander Morrison will stand while he briefs them.

At Captain Orswell’s entrance, the team rises to their feet to salute him as they chirp back a ‘Good morning, Captain Orswell.’. Captain Orswell hides his pride well, but Natasha can tell by the way he looks them over carefully that he’s happy with them. 

“Good on you, showing up early.” He gives a sharp jerk of his head, keeping his back straight and his hands clasped behind him, “I want you on your absolute best behavior. If any of you even move less than a _centimeter_ out of line I will _end **you.**_ ” The last bit is growled out right into Thompson’s face. 

The poor boy looks pale, but Natasha knows that Captain Orswell only targeted him because of his youth and apparent lack of experience. He’ll be fine, Natasha tells herself, they’ll all be fine. 

With a gesture from Captain Orswell, the team sinks back into their seats, not quite relaxing, but not so on edge, while they wait for the Strike Commander. Just as the team is beginning to feel anxious, wondering if their missions was cancelled, the door opens and they hop to their feet in near perfect unison, saluting and calling out as loudly and proudly as they can.

“Good morning, Strike Commander, Sir!” 

To Strike Captain Amari, who trades a pleasantly amused look with Captain Orswell.

“Good morning, Strike Captain, Ma’am!” Vern is the first to recover and the others quickly copy him. 

“Good morning, Team Captain Orswell.” The Strike Captain inclines her head, amusement only lasting for a moment longer before her expression sobers into the intimidating mask that the woman is known for, “I am sorry to inform you that Strike Commander Morrison was called away and will not be able to give you your first mission briefing. I will brief you in his stead. Have a seat and let’s begin.” 

The room darkens at her words and the team takes their seats. The large screen lights up the room, it shows a caravan being loaded in a familiar looking loading bay with unfamiliar markings. 

“This is a caravan currently being loaded with supplies. It will be headed from Watchpoint Chad to Watchpoint Libya. Your mission is to escort the caravan and ensure that it safely arrives in Libya and that nothing is lost. We are estimating the time it will take to be seventy-five hours to cross the one-thousand-two-hundred-and-nineteen kilometer distance. During this time, the caravan is not expected to stop unless because of a mechanical breakdown as its contents are time sensitive. At max, you will have eighty hours to successfully escort the caravan to its destination before the contents become useless and the mission is deemed a failure.”

The Strike Captain pauses in her explanation, watching them all carefully as their mission parameters sink in. 

Natasha feels her stomach drop at the time constraint, working in her head how they can avoid surpassing the eighty-hour time limit. As she glances around the room, she can see her teammates doing the same. It shouldn’t be too hard, and they can sleep in shifts if need be. 

She wonders at the supplies that they’re escorting to Libya, too. It’s possible that it’s mostly medical supplies needing to be kept below a certain temperature and while the Overwatch Caravans are fitted with the latest tech, even theirs can fall prey to the intense heat. It could also be food, but Natasha can’t see Overwatch bothering to send anything with an expiration date on it. Too risky.

“During your mission you should be on the lookout for Omnic or Talon forces. Though neither Chad nor Libya were main battlefields during the Omnic Crisis, Egypt was and the two countries were close enough that the wreckage still affects them today. And Talon has been known to target Overwatch caravans. You should also be wary of civilians as well, as conflicts have risen between the refugees and the locals and both parties prefer to blame Overwatch for their troubles. Currently, there is no _one_ specific group, but we suspect that that should change soon. Either that, or Talon will have more cannon fodder.” The disgust is plain to see on Strike Captain Amari’s expression, and the team can sympathize. 

Talon has been an increasingly growing thorn in Overwatch’s side for years and has steadily grown more and more aggressive. It was only a matter of time before they switched their sights to a Watchpoint, or someone high-up like Strike Captain Amari. 

“Your mission begins immediately. Captain Orswell will be your lead, a dropship is waiting for you in Hangar B.” The Strike Captain’s eyes pass over each and every one of them, looking them over with critical eyes and taking in their eagerness to get the job done. For a moment her harsh glare softens into something like a mother’s warmth, “Stay safe out there, I expect you all to return in one piece. Am I clear?” 

The team hops to their feet, “Yes, Ma’am!” They answer as one. 

The harsh glare returns back into the Strike Captain’s eyes, “Good. Now go, you are dismissed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'm not dead yaaaaay" lol jk I'm super dead, just a ghost.


	12. What Could Possibly Go Wrong?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything could possibly go wrong, but it's all for the greater good. Right?

Before they go to Hanger B, Captain Orswell leads them back to their bay and orders them to pack all essentials. Weapons, armor, rations and a few med kits make the list, but not much else. Not that Natasha is surprised, this isn’t her first rodeo after all. But their quick, eager to start their mission and hesitant to waste any time. Captain Orswell marches them at a steady jog to the Hangar, where a dropship waits patiently, the pilot turns their head and gives them a smile and a thumbs up from their seat in the cock-pit. 

A safe distance away from the dropship are a few engineers idly chatting as their team enters the Hangar. Natasha can pick up a few snippets of their conversation, something about a new pilot training. It makes Natasha wonder if they’ll be in safe hands during their flight to Chad. 

“Yeah, if she can fly this one she’s a shoe-in for the slip-stream program,” She picks up as they grow closer to the engineers. 

“Ah, I’m jealous. They passed me over, just don’t have enough flight experience.” Another engineer comments and the third pats their shoulder in a comforting manner, but the rest of their conversation is lost as the team boards the ship. 

Natasha frowns, she hadn’t heard anything about a slip-steam program. And if their pilot is only training on _one_ of Overwatch’s birds, they must have some kind of experience flying planes or jets. It gives Natasha a little peace of mind, knowing that they aren’t getting someone whose fresh out of the flight simulations. 

“Alright, stow your gear and strap in.” Captain Orswell orders and then stomps up to the pilot, “Oxton! They didn’t tell me you were flying!” His voice drops to a low hum, and again the conversation is lost. 

As they stow their belongings, Edgar catches Natasha’s eyes and mouths ‘Slip-stream’ with a questioning look. Natasha shakes her head with a frown in response and he mirrors her expression. 

Once everyone is settled and strapped in, Captain Orswell stomps back to them and straps himself in as well, “This flight will be a short one, only seven hours. These birds are the fastest on the market. Shame we can’t use ‘em for the Caravans.” He tells them with a sordid grin. 

The Captain pulls a small book out of his pocket to pass the time with as the bird takes off. There’s plenty of time for idle chatter, but the team is quiet. They _still_ haven’t figured out who the mole is, and there’s a certain lack of trust among them that makes Natasha nervous. If they can’t trust each other, how are they going to succeed on the mission? Natasha glares at her feet, her mind working in overtime as she struggles to pull any clues from her head, thinks on whose actions and behavior were suspicious or strange. 

She would like to say that Thompson and Chang are cleared, seeing as they’re young, but Chang has a good amount of combat experience despite not having been in a military faction. And Thompson? Well, he could just be a spy playing the ‘Innocent’ card. Vega is someone she would like to clear as well, if only because the woman is so brash and blunt that there should be no way she’d be able to keep a secret like that hidden for long. But that, too, could just be a cover. 

Edgar, she can clear without a doubt. Era is a possibility, but he’s the oldest among them. The most experienced, the one who already knows about Blackwatch, whatever that is. It wouldn’t surprise her if he knew about the Slip-Stream program as well. 

Beside her she hears a soft curse from Yadav and can’t help but glance over. Yadav is tapping away in a near frantic motion at her tablet and Natasha can catch bits and pieces of code flying away on the screen. It’s clear that Yadav is looking for something and having a difficult time coming up with anything. 

“What is it?” Natasha mutters, nudging the older woman’s knee with her own. 

Yadav’s head twitches as though she’s been startled and her eyes dart over to Natasha in shock. Her moment of shock is brief, however, and she straightens in her seat, turning her tablet so that Natasha can give it a proper look. 

“You heard them talking about the Slip-Stream program? I can’t find anything on it.” Yadav admits as Natasha’s eyes take in everything on the screen.

It’s mostly files with a wide array of different coloured names all outlined in black so that they’re readable despite the how they might normally blend into the white background. Yadav has been poking around in some files that require a higher clearance than she or anyone on their team has. It sets off alarms in Natasha’s mind, but instead of alerting the Captain, she stows that information away for a later time. 

“Well, maybe we can talk to the pilot for a moment. See if it’s something she can talk about?” Natasha offers. 

After all, this ‘Ms. Oxton’ as Captain Orswell called her, seems rather young and bright-eyed. She might be young enough to slip up and reveal something she shouldn’t. 

“I can talk to her, you try and find anything on her. I’m having no luck and you’re a better stalker.” Yadav gives Natasha a teasing smile before she unbuckles herself and packs her tablet away. 

Captain Orswell barely glances at her as she lets him know that she’s going to speak with the pilot, “Just don’t distract Ms. Oxton too much, that girl will take any opportunity to talk until your bloody ears fall off.” 

Natasha waits until the others have begun moving about the drop-ship, though there isn’t much room to move, before she too gets out of her seat and retrieves her tablet. Instead of sitting back down in her original seat, she sits near Captain Orswell, who sits alone at the small table in the corner of the ship by the main door. Behind him, in the wall, is a shelf filled with various books and snacks. Even a few popular brands of soda. If she looks carefully, she can see a thin forcefield keeping the contents of the shelf from sudden evacuation. The table, though, is bare, but gives off a quiet hum. Natasha suspects that it might be magnetized to keep things from flying off, should they be set down. 

The Captain gives her the barest of nods when she sits down at the other end of the table and pulls her tablet up. He’s far too absorbed into his book, which doesn’t even have a title, now that Natasha looks at it. Or it’s hidden, which just sounds like something Captain Orswell would do. 

Natasha sets to work looking up Oxton in Overwatch’s database, she finds a few hits and sets them to the side, digging deep into files that brush a higher clearance level to see if she can find more hits. Despite wanting to gather as much information as she can, she’s still careful about which files she sticks her nose into. After all, Captain Orswell is _right_ there. 

After perhaps an hour of digging around, Natasha is certain that she’s exhausted all of the resources that she can use and begins picking through the files and documents she managed to find. 

Lena Oxton nineteen years old. Unmarried. Served in the British Airforce as a pilot, a good amount of flying hours under her belt. Parents are alive and well. Three siblings. 

Oxton’s service is rather peculiar and often conflicting. At first, it reads as though she’s had several deployments either transporting goods or troops, sometimes both. And then it reads that she’s never deployed before. And then further along it notes that she’s spent some time in Korea as part of her service, but doesn’t detail what she was doing, and then it goes back on itself to say she never deployed and had no involvement in the damned British Airforce. She was a bartender, no a dancer, an exotic dance, but ah! Oxton _did_ serve, she just had side jobs before her time in the British Airforce. That makes sense, until her digging says that Oxton joined right after she graduated highschool and had no prior work experience. 

Natasha just barely manages to keep her expression politely neutral despite her frustration. She should have seen this coming. Of course they would just… destroy her entire record and replace it with a loop of information that constantly contradicted itself. This is a problem that she’s run into before, but now she knows that it would be useless to try and look Oxton up using her normal routes. 

Instead, Natasha hops onto the net and tries to hunt Lena Oxton down through any social media accounts, whether they were hers or she was mentioned, it didn’t matter. Oxton would be somewhere and Natasha would find her. 

One hours passes and still Natasha feels as though she’s stuck in that damned information loop! Whoever wiped Oxton’s history did a very thorough job of it. There’s no useful or even vaguely interesting bits of information. Natasha can’t help but frown in disappointment.

The only thing left to do in terms of gathering information on her target is to stalk them and maybe harass the people she interacts with to get information. Well, less harassing and more charming. 

With a sigh, Natasha gets up and stows her tablet away and makes a beeline for Yadav and Oxton. She’s a little surprised to find them deep in an intense conversation about flight dynamics. Something she isn’t really familiar with, so the conversation is lost to her. 

Thankfully, Yadav sees her and switches the subject, straightening in her seat and raising her chin at Natasha, “Blakhart! I thought you were researching the route?” Yadav raises a brow inquisitively as Oxton twists her head around to peer at Natasha over her shoulder. 

Her warm brown eyes are filled with an almost child-like curiosity. 

“Yeah, couldn’t find anything that would be worrisome or interesting.” Natasha replies, taking a seat to the left of Oxton, opposite Yadav, “Figured talking to the new pilot would be more interesting.” She flashes a smile at Oxton. 

“Oh, well I’m Lena Oxton. You can just call me Lena, Love.” Lena tells her with a smile so bright that Natasha thinks it could be weaponized to make their enemies blind. 

She doesn’t miss the heavy British accent, something like a cockney accent. 

“That’s a beautiful accent you have there. Are you from London, by chance?” Natasha asks, more to make conversation than anything. 

Yadav leans back, watching and looking as though she might be taking mental notes. At least she isn’t angry that Natasha stole the conversation away. 

Lena blushes at the compliment, but the heat in her cheeks vanishes almost as quickly as it comes, “Oh, yeah! Didn’t think it was that obvious!” She giggles, “You been there?” 

Natasha gives her an affirming nod, “I stayed there for a year while I was traveling around after the military. Very nice place, friendly enough people.” 

“Oh, rubbish,” Lena scoffs at that, “You don’t have to lie to me. The people there aren’t too bad once you get around their snooty, know-it-all, rub-it-in-your-face attitude.” 

Natasha laughs at that, even if it isn’t particularly amusing, “Alright, you got me. They’re friendly if you don’t bother them though.” 

“Only an American would say that.” Lena teases with a wink that pulls a genuine chortle from Natasha, “You mentioned the military? How long did you serve?” 

With a deep breath that Natasha lets out slowly, she leans back in her seat, letting her eyes trail over the cock-pit, taking in all the various buttons lights that probably mean important things, “I only served four years, my parents wanted me out after I…” She clears her throat when her voice catches, “After my brother died.” 

Lena’s expression drops, pure heartbreak flooding into her eyes, “Oh no!” She gasps, “I’m so sorry!” 

The absolute genuine emotion in Lena’s eyes makes Natasha want to cry, but she’s strong and she did enough crying with Reinhardt. 

“Thank you, but that was years ago.” Natasha manages a weak smile, “So how long have you served?” She asks quickly to change the subject. 

That seems to startle Lena, “Oh, I never…” She looks like she might panic so Natasha chuckles. 

“They don’t let inexperienced fliers pilot their planes here,” Natasha tells her, “And since we’re technically flying into an active zone, I doubt they would put just anyone with experience in here. Plus, you have that look in your eye that most people get.”

Lena blinks at her owlishly, “Uhm… Well I joined when I was sixteen, but my uncle owned a small plane out in the sticks that he taught me how to fly. Even though it drove my parents absolutely bonkers!” She rolls her eyes with a laugh at that and Natasha and Yadav laugh with her.

“I can understand overprotective parents.” Natasha says, “So you probably joined… the Airforce? What do they call it?” 

“You’re not too far off, Love! We actually call it the _Royal_ Air Force!” Lena gives another giggle, “On account of the King and Queen and all that.” 

“Yeah, that does make sense…” Natasha trails off, letting her eyes wander to the control panel, “What brought you to Overwatch?” 

“Oh, they sent me an invitation to…” Lena stops as though she suddenly remembers something and then gives a nervous giggle, “To train and become a pilot. Said something about needing fighters in the air?” 

Natasha smiles softly at her, “You’re a terrible liar.” And then she winks when Lena noticeably pales, “But you can keep your secrets.” That calms Lena down, who sighs in relief and puts a hand on her chest.

“I felt like you were about to put me through the ringer, Love!” She laughs again and lets her hand fall back to the controls. 

Natasha leans back in her seat and makes herself comfortable while Yadav watches on, her brows furrowed and looking as though she might be disappointed, but doesn’t know whether to be so yet. 

“Well, working in Overwatch, you kinda have to have secrets. Right, Yadav?” Natasha turns her seat slightly to better face Yadav.

“Right,” She says a little unsurely, and while Lena turns to face Yadav, Natasha mouths ‘Blackwatch’ to her and her eyes light up in understanding, “Like… branches of Overwatch that no one talks about.” 

That definitely piques Lena’s interest, as she leans more towards Yadav with wide eyes, “Secret branches?” She asks with a whisper so quiet, Natasha almost misses it. 

“Secret programs, branches, missions. The usual.” Yadav shrugs carelessly, “All military and para-military operations have them.” 

“Woah…” Lena seems to be speechless at this new information, which is rather interesting.

“Weren’t there ever any strange happenings in the Royal Air Force?” Natasha questions, regaining Lena’s attention as the girl whirls around in her seat to face Natasha. 

“What do you mean?” Her voice is still quiet, like they’re trading scary stories. 

“Like… people going missing… Missions that were meant to fail suddenly succeeding. Missions that were meant to succeed going horribly wrong?” Natasha leans forward, and Lena mirrors her movement, and drops her voice so that it’s low and quiet, like Lena’s. 

There’s realization dawning in Lena’s expression, her eyes darting away from Natasha and then to the floor as she straightens back in her seat. 

“Well, I mean…” She hesitates and faulters, her eyes return to the control panel.

Suddenly Lena laughs and slaps her palm to her face, “Dammit, you’re right, aren’t you? How could I have been so blind!” 

“Eh, you’re young. I missed a lot too in my first few years,” Natasha lies with a shrug.

Though, truly there was much that she missed early on in her military career, but she’d always enjoyed watching and observing people and their habits. It didn’t take her long to become suspicious of certain things, but David had always kept her nose out of places it didn’t belong. He kept her safe… 

“It makes sense that Overwatch would have some… secrets, too.” Yadav cuts through her thoughts and returns her to the present. 

And though Natasha blinks, neither women had noticed her brief mental departure. 

“Boy, does it!” Lena agrees heartily, making Natasha and Yadav squint in suspicion. 

Lena gulps nervously and her head swivels back and forth as she realizes she’s just been caught. 

“Uhm, nothing that I would know about… anyway,” Lena clears her throat a bit awkwardly, “You should probably get back to your seats. I need to focus on flying.” 

Yadav sighs, thoroughly disappointed, but leaves anyway with a scowl on her face. Natasha frowns at Lena, who won’t even look at her anymore before sighing too. Instead of leaving the cockpit outright, though, she pats Lena’s shoulder and gives the younger woman an approving grin when she looks her way. 

“Good job, kid.” Natasha gives Lena a wink that she gapes at.

“Wait, was that a test?” Lena whispers quietly, her eyes wide and filled with wonder. 

Natasha simply gives her shoulder a squeeze and smiles before she turns to follow Yadav. Lena twists in her seat to watch her walk away, bewildered by their conversation, before turning back around with a shake of her head. 

Natasha follows Yadav to sit next to her, “She’s cute.” Natasha comments quietly.

“And off-limits. Like the rest of Overwatch should be.” Vega hisses, removing her gaze from her tablet to glare at Natasha, and then her eyes dart to Captain Orswell who seems too absorbed into his book to notice. She’s only a few seats down from the two women, close enough to have heard. 

“I’m aware,” Natasha growls, not bothering to look Vega’s way. 

She doesn’t tell Vega that technically speaking, Lena Oxton isn’t a full member of Overwatch, that she’s just training for a program, or perhaps this is her audition to join? That latter seemed more likely, what with the engineers going on about her. Regardless, Natasha says nothing on the matter, instead stashing the information away for a better time to bring it up to the rest of the team. Yadav seems to have similar thoughts, as she simply nods at Natasha when she glances at her before pulling her tablet out from the storage underneath her seat to occupy her time. 

Natasha sighs and does the same. After all, the still have a few hours before they land. 

 

 

 

She’s chocking on hot air, strangled screams and blood-filled coughs. In her ear, the gears a whirring and screeching in her ears and blindingly bright red eyes filling her vision. 

_Why?!_

A question that somehow penetrates through the piercing screaming, but she can offer nothing but short, painful gasps. 

_Why did you kill me?!_

I didn’t! She wants to answer, she wants to apologize, to say anything, but she can feel the life draining out of her with each passing second that those metal claws stay crushed around her neck, the sharp edges slicing through her tender flesh.

_I trusted you-_

Natasha is startled awake by a gentle hand at her shoulder, her head jerks up to see Edgar frowning at her.

“We landed. Didn’t wanna spook you.” He tells her, voice a soft whisper that’s almost lost beneath the wild beating of her heart.

Around the dropship, everyone else is up and stretching their legs, grabbing their things and preparing to leave. Even Lena has left her post at the controls, hovering curiously by Captain Orswell who seems to be speaking with someone on his phone. 

Natasha clears her throat somewhat awkwardly, “Right. Thanks.” Her eyes tear away from his as his hand leaves her shoulder. 

Edgar backs off, allowing her room to stand, but stays close enough to catch her, like he’s afraid she’ll fall. She wants to snap at him for it, tell him to mind his own damned business, but she doesn’t. Natasha doesn’t even look at him as she stands and heads towards her bag, guilt crawling up her windpipe and threatening to choke her like her dreams. 

As she throws her bag over her shoulder, she takes in a deep breath and lets it out as slowly as she can, pushing all of her feelings down until her heart is beating a steady rhythm again. She ignores the feeling of Edgar watching her, ignores the fact that he knows what’s bothering her. 

There’s nothing he can do anyway. 

“Alright, Team!” Captain Orswell gives a sharp whistle that has them all lining up obediently. 

Lena looks a bit shocked at their quick reaction, leaning her weight from one leg to the other as though she’s about to line up with them. 

“The moment we exit this ship is the moment our mission truly begins. Keep your damn armor on and your guard up. I don’t want to hear one peep about how bloody hot it is! Let’s move!” Captain Orswell doesn’t wait for their reply as he turns and marches off the ship just as the doors open. 

Lena gives them a salute once they’re off the plane before deboarding herself, running off to her next destination, wherever that may be. Probably reporting to a Captain, whoever she was taking orders from. 

Captain Orswell leads them from hangar, bustling with activity as various agents and engineers rush around, some of them carrying boxes, some of them pushing carts. None of them seem to be unloading anything, but rather as if they’re preparing to evacuate the entire base. Natasha purses her lips at this, but there’s no time to ask questions as Captain Orswell marches on through a vaguely familiar base.

Familiar in the way that the base used Overwatch’s standard colours, white walls with some blue accents here and there. But the setup of the base was different, where Natasha expected to pass Team Bays, they instead passed meeting rooms and various offices for the Commander and Captains of the base. Engineering was where she expected a cafeteria. And the entrance to a field? Their destination, which was instead the loading bay that they had been showed during their mission briefing. 

Inside the loading bay were another team, already geared up and ready, waiting to greet Team Captain Orswell. The caravan seems ready to go, its package packed tightly away. 

“Captain Orswell!” One of the barks in greeting as she steps forward. The others don’t move from their stations around the caravan. “You and your team are gonna stand out like elephants in a small room, dressed like that.”

She’s in the standard combat uniform, coloured a soft tan to match their environment, but with an added scarf wrapped securely around her neck, as do the members of her team. The material seems loose enough that she could obscure most, if not all, of her head. 

“Captain Briash, your phrases are just as awful as always.” He barks back, but when they meet they clasp their hands together as though they’re old friends, “And that’s the bloody point, ya cunt!” 

It’s strange, but Captain Orswell’s accent gets thicker with the jab that sounds more like a term of endearment than an insult. Captain Briash treats it as such as well, laughing and slapping Captain Orswell’s shoulder with a sound that echos in the loading bay. 

“Well, I’m sure your head is large enough to make a very fine lightening rod, isn’t it?” Captain Briash tells him warmly as she turns and gestures to the caravan, “We’re loaded up and ready to roll out. The sooner we leave the better.” 

“Good,” Captain Orswell growls as he looks over the caravan and Captain Briash’s team as well, “Looks like their blood is worth bottling.” He comments with a hint of praise in his voice. 

“And your team looks…” Captain Briash pauses as she looks over Natasha and her team, “Like a bag of trail mix!” 

“Best damn trail mix you’d ever have.” Captain Orswell confirms.

Natasha isn’t sure whether she should feel complimented or insulted, and by the looks of confusion and vaguely offended bewilderment, her team can’t decide either. 

“Alright, let’s get this payload moving, people!” Captain Orswell barks first and then gives three, short and sharp whistles, signaling his team to swarm around the caravan as they practiced and trained. 

Natasha and Thompson take up the rear of the caravan with two from Captain Briash’s team. Edgar and Yadav join the two members at the front of the caravan alongside Captain Briash. On either side and in between the vehicles of the caravan are the remaining members. 

“Comms up!” Captain Briash yells as everyone crowds into or onto the vehicles, depending on if they’re driving or defending. 

There are only three vehicles in total, two smaller vehicles in the front and back and one much larger in the middle with a cargo compartment that could probably hold a few elephants. Natasha and Thompson hop onto the back of the last vehicle which has convenient rear facing seats. She keeps her rifle pointed at the ground, but holds it so that she can aim at a moments notice. Her aim without a scope isn’t too bad, especially when the target is close, but she prefers to have a moment to aim through the scope to get the perfect shot. 

Beside her, Thompson mirrors her grip on his own rifle, staying conscious of where his weapon is pointing. He’s been training with her and Yadav to fine-tune his aim and he’s been coming along nicely. Thompson also has a pistol holstered at his hip like Natasha does. He’s better with the pistol than she is, which she thinks is a fair trade since she’s better with a rifle. Neither will be officially playing the role of spotter, but they know to have each other’s backs. 

It’s not long before they leave the base, and Natasha isn’t surprised to see that it’s much smaller than the main base. All around them is nothing but desert. Sand and rocks for miles and miles. It makes for a bit of a bumpy road, but it’s tolerable. It’s not something that Natasha couldn’t adjust to, but Thompson would have trouble with it. 

For the most part, the comms are quiet, aside from idle chatter. Though the chatter is more tactile that idle. They’re playing a sort of game where someone points out something that might be suspicious and someone else quickly examines and explains what it _actually_ is. Like a rock or a snake. There’s mostly just rocks though. And sand. 

“What about them up there?” Era speaks up and Natasha’s eyes dart around until they land on a group of four people riding on camels far off in the distance to the caravan’s left. 

“Locals, I think.” Someone answers, “Keep an eye on them.” 

“I have an eye on them.” Natasha answers the request, freeing up the rest of the team’s eyes. 

Beside her Thompson twists in his seat and riffles through one of the bags they brought and hands her a pair of binoculars. She accepts them with a quiet thanks and flicks on the digital zoom that will give her a clearer picture of the group watching them. They’re in white outfits that cover most of their bodies, but their faces are uncovered. 

They’re a bit far off to see their exact facial expression, especially as they’re growing farther away at a fast pace. However, as far as Natasha can tell, they’re neutral enough to not immediately be labeled as a threat. She can see faint movement of their lips, but it’s not enough to give her a clear picture on what they’re saying. 

Natasha frowns and lowers the binoculars, they aren’t giving her enough information to justify their use, “You see anything else, Thompson?” 

Thompson takes a moment to answer, quickly scanning the horizon, “No, not anything that stands out at least.” 

“Keep an eye out. They still haven’t moved.” She tells him despite the group vanishing from their sight as the caravan continues to move. 

“Yes, Ma’am.” Thompson replies automatically. 

“Edgar, Yadav, do you see anything ahead of us?” Natasha raises her hand to press a finger against the comm unit. 

“You mean more sand?” Era snarks with a bit of agitated bite before Yadav can answer. 

“Nothing.” Edgar answers. 

“That’s suspicious,” Captain Briash’s voice comes through the comm line, “Usually there’s some activity out here. How many were in that group?” 

“Four on camel-back. Non-descript clothing, Captain.” Natasha squints at where the group disappeared at.

For a brief moment she sees a flash of metal figure with red eyes, but when she blinks its gone. A quick glance at Thompson tells her that he didn’t see it. Probably nothing to worry about, but it sets her on edge anyway. 

What if it was _something?_

“Stay on guard, team.” Captain Briash tells them, earning a chorus of ‘Yes, Captains!’ across the comm line. 

 

 

 

Several hours later, the sun beating down and the temperature raising to an ungodly number that makes Natasha nauseous just looking at it, there’s nothing else. No one reports seeing any other groups or figures out in the distance and they’ve taken turns breaking for food while the caravan still moves. Escort duty is just as dull as Natasha remembers. 

There’s also the issue of a headache teasing Natasha, but a sip of water here and there is keeping it at bay for the moment. The metal figure has only popped up twice in the last few hours, but Thompson, nor any of the others, has made mention of it. Natasha keeps it in the back of her head for now. There’s no discernable pattern to its appearances, though Natasha hasn’t really had much to go off of to figure a pattern from. 

It’s more than likely just the heat.

Natasha hates the heat.

 

 

 

By the time night falls they’ve all chosen their sleeping shifts. Captain Briash tells them that they each get two hours, only a handful of them sleeping at a time. By the sound of her voice from the comm and how she’s been checking up on everyone for the last two hours, it’s easy to tell that she’s on edge. The day so far has been uncharacteristically quiet, according to her. 

Beside Natasha, Thompson is lightly slumped in his seat, head down and eyes closed. The passenger of their vehicle is also asleep, with the driver’s turn to sleep being next. Natasha has elected for the third shift, uninterested in sleeping and the nightmares that will surely plague her. 

At the very least, with them being the in the desert, the temperature has dropped to an unforgiving cold. Natasha can handle the cold much better than the heat. There’s a hushed conversation going on in the comms that Natasha has only half paid attention to, eyes still scanning the barren land for anything that could be perceived as a threat. 

“No, I’m telling you if we’re trail mix, then I’m the M&M’s!” Is whispered furiously over the comm lines, drawing Natasha’s attention to the conversation between Vega and Chang.

“Well, if you are the M&M’s, then what does that make Vern?” Chang argues. 

There’s a pause before Era chimes in, “He’s the almonds. Nobody likes him, but he’s got crucial nutritional value.” 

That earns a quite chuckle from most everyone awake in the caravan. 

“Hey, Blakhart likes me!” Vern whispers loudly.

“Only when you’re giving me orders, Vern.” Natasha pipes up and Vega groans comically in response.

“Don’t be gross with our own damn team, you fucking slut.” Vega growls.

“What, you jealous cause I’m flirting with your boyfriend?” Natasha taunts, knowing that Vega can’t do anything in retaliation at the moment.

“He’s not my boyfriend!” Vega shouts at the same time that Vern shouts, “She’s not my girlfriend!” 

Thompson jerks beside her, and Natasha worries that they just interrupted the first shift’s nap, but Thompson settles back down with a quiet grumble and no other complaints are heard on the comms.

“Be quiet, people are trying to sleep.” Era lectures them a stern tone. 

All-knowing and wise, it makes Natasha miss the older man, but he’s long been dead. 

“Sheesh, you guys sure you’re not dating?” Someone from Captain Briash’s team giggles into the comms.

“I will fucking end you!” Vega snarls, though noticeably quieter. 

“There’s no way you’re the M&M’s, Vega.” Natasha continues to tease Vega, since the other woman can’t retaliate, it’s the perfect time for getting back at her for kicking her ass on the field. 

“Oh yeah? Who is it then, _you?_ ” Vega gags as though the very idea would cause her to vomit. 

“Of course not, it’s clearly Chang.” Natasha replies with a roll of her eyes, “I’m the-“

“Raisins?” Vega interrupts with a chortle, and others snicker on the comms as well. 

“Oh, yes!” Chang agrees and Natasha furrows her brow at that, wondering just whose side the Chinese woman is on, “She might look bitter and nasty, but she is actually quite sweet and good for you!”

“Oh,” Natasha says, surprised at how touching Chang’s explanation was, “Wait, I look bitter and nasty?” She resists the urge to twist around to see if she can spot Chang in the vehicles ahead of them. 

“Your resting bitch face tends to be a bit off-putting.” Era says reluctantly. 

“Hmm,” Natasha frowns, but doesn’t argue. It makes sense, even if it _is_ insulting, “Well if I’m the raisins, I guess that makes Vega the wasabi peas.” 

“Seconded.” Era says.

“You guys are assholes.” Vega snarls quietly. 

“Alright that’s enough of who’s who in the trail mix. And you’re wrong Cadet Blakhart, _I’m_ the M &M’s.” Captain Orswell growls over the comms and Natasha can distinctly hear Captain Briash admonishing him with a chuckle. 

 

 

 

The rest of the night passes by quietly after that and it’s not long before Thompson is nudging her to take her nap. Natasha wants to refuse, make some excuse for not sleeping, but she knows that that will only cause her trouble that she doesn’t need, so with great hesitance she makes herself as comfortable as she can in her seat and lets herself relax enough for a light catnap. 

She’s only asleep for perhaps a few minutes or a half-hour before the vehicle suddenly jerks to a stop. Startled, she unholsters her pistol, pointing it at the rocks and sand illuminated by the moon. And then she realizes that they aren’t under attack, both when she sees no enemies and when she hears nothing concerning from her teammates. A hand gently touches her shoulder and she can’t stop the twitch of her arm, but manages to force it to swing down, pointing the pistol at the ground as she glares at Thompson. 

“You good?” He asks, eyes wide and concerned. 

“Yeah,” Natasha huffs, softens her glare into a neutral gaze and re-holsters her weapon before looking around, “Why did we stop?” 

“Got a damn engine down in Vehicle Two!” Someone curses over the comm line. 

There’s a chorus of groans, covered only by Captain Orswell barking at everyone to get up and cover the caravan while the two mechanics from Captain Briash’s team set to work on fixing the engine. 

“Follow me, Thompson.” Natasha tells him, “We’re going to take point South,” She tells the comms, “Over there,” She points out a rock formation to Thompson that would provide ample cover in the event of an attack from the south. 

“Belikov and I are taking point North.” Yadav tells them. 

“Thankfully, we don’t necessarily need to keep watch behind us. That’s what the rest of the team is for,” Natasha isn’t sure if she’s trying to reassure Thompson or herself when she says this, “So I’ll watch east and you cover west and we’ll both look south.” 

“While also checking behind us?” Thompson asks with an air of nervousness. 

“No, we’ll have to rely on the rest of the team for that, as I’ve said,” Perhaps they both need the reassurance. 

“Right. Trust is important.” Thompson tells himself as they set up behind the rock. 

“Now remember, you’ll want to keep both eyes open when you shoot, like we’ve practiced.” Natasha tells him, and Thompson quietly replies with a ‘Yes, Ma’am.’. “And do not engage unless ordered to. Right now, we’re lookouts.” Another ‘Yes, Ma’am.’ just as quiet as the last. 

Natasha keeps her eye out, reminding herself that she doesn’t have to check the west side because Thompson is, but every now and again she’ll find her eyes wandering over. So far, there’s nothing. But there’s been nothing since they set out, and Captain Briash had been upset about that. Her mind wanders back to the group on camelback, they looked like they could be locals, but it could also be a cover by Talon. Or Omnics in disguise, though Natasha hadn’t heard about any Omnics that looked exactly like humans. 

There’s a faint buzzing sound that catches Natasha’s attention, but she can only hear it when her head is tilted just so to the side and facing mostly south. It’s vaguely familiar, in way that sets off Natasha’s nerves and puts her on edge. She keeps her head at that perfect angle to hear and it looks towards that direction. It’s difficult and hurts her eyes, though, she can’t get a good look in the direction. With a quiet growl, she abandons the sound and turns her head to face the sound, or rather its approximate location, but there’s nothing to see. Even through her scope there’s nothing in sight that seems out of the ordinary. 

“So, I heard that it was normal for people in the military to suffer from PTSD.” Thompson says suddenly, breaking Natasha’s concentration.

The buzzing noise is gone. 

Natasha is no less uncomfortable by its absence and made even more so by Thompson’s question. 

“It’s pretty difficult to avoid it, yeah.” Natasha answers after a moment. 

There’s another pause, this time from Thompson and Natasha feels him shift beside her, “So, how do you deal with it?” 

Ah, Natasha thinks to herself, he’s just concerned for his own health. That lets Natasha relax a little, “You go through the regular steps; Denial, Anger, Grief, Acceptance…” Natasha rattles off, “It could take months, it might take decades, but once you’re at acceptance, everyone expects you to go talk to a professional. Sometimes they force you, either by a judge’s order or with guilt.” 

“You make it sound so simple.” Thompson scoffs.

“Well it _is_ simple,” Natasha tells him, “But often times, we make it difficult for ourselves, either because we’re afraid or because it’s too difficult to admit that something is wrong.” 

There’s another pause, “Was it easy for you?” The question is so quiet that Natasha almost doesn’t even hear it. 

Natasha sighs at the question, “No, but my parents managed to guilt me into quickening the process. I don’t think it’s actually easy for anyone.” 

“Is that why you kind of… freaked when you woke up?” Thompson asks with less hesitation, “Because of the PTSD?”

Natasha resists the urge to sigh again and roll her eyes in annoyance at the question, “That’s a bit personal,” She says instead, then cutting off Thompson before he can apologize, “But the short answer is yes. It follows you wherever you go. A good support system can make it easier, getting a dog or something affectionate that you have to care for will help with needing to take care of yourself.” 

“Do you have any of that?” Natasha doesn’t resist growling at the question, because this isn’t something she wants to talk about, especially on a mission, “I’m sorry!” Thompson chirps quickly.

“No, don’t apologize,” Natasha can’t keep the agitation out of her voice, but she does try to soften it as much as possible, “It’s something that I _should_ be talking about more freely anyway.” She gripes. 

“Still, I shouldn’t be poking my nose where it doesn’t belong.” Thompson says.

The silence stretches on between them as a few curses are spat from the mechanics at the engine. 

“When I went back home, my parents were my support group. They own a ranch, mostly teaching people how to ride horses, but they breed and sell them too. I didn’t own any of the horses, but I got special privileges to treat any of them as mine, so long as they weren’t being used for lessons. There was this quarter horse who was pretty old, but she was sweet and she liked following me around. She helped me get through some tough days.” Natasha explains, mindful of avoiding speaking into the comm. 

“Did you work on the ranch, too?” Thompsons asks, and Natasha is glad for the break from her mental health. 

“Before I joined the military with my brother, yeah. After I came back…” Natasha pauses as she remembers how she struggled with depression and survivor’s guilt, how anger was a near constant and her patience was nil, “I wasn’t exactly in the right state of mind to be working with horses, so I took up a job at the post office to keep myself busy.” 

“Wow…” Thompson says and Natasha agrees with the sentiment. 

“I got help and eventually picked up another job and now I’m here.” Natasha finishes.

“You think I’ll go through something like that?” Thompson asks with a quiet voice.

“Maybe,” Natasha answers as honestly as she can, “Anything can happen, and in our line of work it’s usually bad. The important thing to remember is that you don’t have to let it be the end and that you can still move on with your life.” 

The silence stretches on between them as Thompson contemplates what Natasha has told him, until finally, one of the mechanics shouts in victory and the middle vehicle in the caravan roars back to life.

“Alright, let’s move out. North point, south point, we have your back.” Captain Orswell shouts over the comms. 

“That’s our cue.” Natasha mutters to Thompson

They both rise, taking one last glance around before jogging back towards the caravan. Just as Captain Orswell had said, the three members of Captain Briash’s team have their weapons aimed out, watching for potential ambushes. 

A sudden thought strikes Natasha, wondering if perhaps they had missed camouflaged targets. And then she gets that familiar chill up her spine, the kind caused by being in the scope of another sniper. There’s no real time to react, but Natasha tries anyway, throwing her body into Thompson’s just as a shot rings out through the night. She hears Thompson cry out and then they hit the ground and she scrambles to cover his body with her own. 

She hears the returning fire of her teammates and then Captain Briash shouting, “Barrier incoming!” 

And then there’s a heavy ‘thud’ behind them and then sound of something unfolding and the high-pitched whine of hard-light technology activating. Bullets ricochet off of the barrier, large enough to cover Natasha and Thompson’s retreat, but not large enough to cover the entire caravan. 

“Up on your feet, Thompson, head down!” Natasha snarls, helping Thompson up to his feet, but keeping them both bent at the waist as the run back to their vehicle. 

She shoves Thompson up and into the vehicle, making sure that she’s right behind him, blocking him from anymore shots from the sniper. They seem well occupied, however as no shots come near Natasha or Thompson. 

Thompson tumbles into the back seat, crying out in pain and clutching his shoulder. Natasha spots blood just as one of Captain Briash’s team turns around from the passenger seat as the vehicle lurches forward. They’ve got a med-kit in their hand and Natasha moves out of the way as they clamber back.

“Just the shoulder?” They demand of Thompson.

“Yeah,” Thompson chokes out and moves his hand to reveal the entry wound, larger than Natasha would have guessed, but it’s not a lethal shot. 

Satisfied that she’s managed to keep Thompson from a sudden end to his life, Natasha turns around to return fire, shocked when she sees an airship rising rapidly over the horizon and turning towards them. 

“Shit, airship!” She shouts over the comms. 

It’s a transporter, so the sides are wide open, revealing at least two dozen Talon soldiers on board, not including the pilot. Natasha takes the opportunity to fire at the unguarded soldiers, hitting one before the airship begins using evasive maneuvers to protect its cargo. They immediately begin returning fire and the vehicles of the caravan begin swerving left and right to avoid being hit. 

“Does _anyone_ have anti-air ammunition?” Someone asks. 

“Firing now!” Another answers and then there’s a ‘shunk’ as a missile shoots overhead. 

Doors raise on either side of the airship as it pulls up, showing its belly as flares burst out just below the guns. The airship climbs into the sky as the missile gets diverted, but it explodes midair before it can hit the ground. 

Natasha takes the opportunity of brief reprieve to reach forward into the case that Thompson had brought with them. Inside is an array of ammunition types neatly organized, making it easy to pick out the type she needs to break through the pilot’s window. Because they will be back. 

She quickly empties the chamber and changes the magazine just in time for the airship to reappear, with two more flanking it. 

“Firing!” Another missile flies off and again the flares are released, but the airships don’t climb back into the sky, instead the veer off in one direction or another with the middle nose diving and barreling towards them.

Natasha bares her teeth as she peers through her scope, no hesitation once the pilot is within her sights. The shot rings out, but the glass only chips, but what else could they expect from an organization like Talon, stealing and developing high-tech equipment like it was going out of style. She see’s the pilot flinch, but the ship stays on course. Two more shots ring out from behind her and the glass chips more. She’s glad that Yadav and Edgar are aiming with her. One more shot from her rifle and the glass shatters, letting the next two shots from Yadav and Edgar. 

The pilot jerks and red sprays out from two shots, one in the head, tearing through their helmet and the other through their chest. Their armor wasn’t enough to protect them, that’s somewhat of a good sign, but Natasha spotted significantly heavier armor on a number of the soldiers inside the ship and who knows what’s in the other two. 

The ship itself tips further forward, no longer headed directly for them. Natasha keeps her scope on it, ready to shoot anyone that tries to save the ship. No one does, but the sides open to let the soldiers jump from their crashing ship. The other two ships, still flying and dodging missiles and shots from the caravan, dive to cover the soldiers’ descent. It makes it difficult to hit any of the soldiers, and for a moment Natasha allows herself to be impressed by the pilots’ skills, avoiding crashing into one another while keeping most of the soldiers safe as they crash to the ground and scramble for cover.

Natasha manages to take several of them out, despite hitting the airships instead many times. Just as she thought, though, many of them have armor that their bullets can’t easily penetrate. She bares her teeth at this, but at the very least the caravan is still pushing forward and they have no method of ground transportation. For the moment, at least. 

The two remaining airships have their own soldiers on board, and a few snipers, if that round that scratches past her ear and punches harmlessly into the empty passenger seat.

“Hey, keep them from shooting in here!” Captain Briash’s medic barks, “I can’t patch up this guy _and_ dodge bullets!” 

“I’m working on it!” Natasha barks back.

“Yell at her more, she works great under pressure.” Thompson gives a short laugh that Natasha snarls at. 

“I’ll put you out of your misery if you keep it up!” Again, she takes sight of the pilot and begins firing, watching the glass crack and break until the pilot’s evasive maneuvers take it out of her sight. 

She switches to the next one to already find the glass broken, but there’s a bubble of hard-light surrounding the pilot. Natasha bares her teeth, nothing that she has would be able to pierce that. The missiles might, but with how the airships were flying around, they weren’t firing at them. 

That was fine, otherwise they would just be wasting ammunition. But still, there’s only so much punishment that the caravan can take. Natasha ignores the pilots for now, instead turning her attention to the snipers that are on board the airships.

The vehicles bounce roughly as they veer off the roads and Natasha almost slams her face into her own rifle. She hears Thompson grunt in pain and the medic curse, but she doesn’t look back, she has to stay focused on the enemy if she wants to keep them safe. It’s difficult to adjust to the rhythmless bumping and bouncing of the vehicle, but Natasha clenches her teeth and keeps herself as stable as she possibly can. 

By whatever miracle, the Talon forces decided against using hard-light shields to protect their cargo, making the soldiers within easy to pick off. Natasha just has to be mindful of the snipers who seemed dead-set on taking Natasha, Edgar and Yadav out. The soldiers themselves are quick to take themselves out of Natasha’s line of sight, as much as they can given the crowded area that gives them little room to move about. Their armor is tough, though, taking each bullet Natasha fires with ease until they start cracking when she finds a weak spot, but then the airship moves and Natasha has to quickly scan for the other.

“Alright, you’re good to go. Can you still use a gun?” She hears the medic ask Thompson. 

“Ah, yeah. I think so.” He sounds like he’s in pain, but again Natasha resists the urge to look back. 

“Good, now help us keep them busy!” The medic orders him. 

“Sir!” Thompson replies and grunts as he maneuvers around in the back seat, using the headrest to stabilize his own rifle. 

“Don’t bother with the pilots,” Natasha tells him, “Look for weak spots in the ship, see if you can take out an engine.” 

“Ma’am!” Thompson grunts again. 

They hadn’t gone over what weak spots a sniper could find on a vehicle, let alone something like an airship, but Thompson has sharp eyes and he’s smart. They’ve discussed weak spots in armor, how the bullet reacts differently, how the armor reacts and how the person reacts when they know they’ve been hit. It wasn’t much different and with how quick the pilots were to react to any damage to the airships, Thompson would be able to figure it out. The only question was, were their bullets strong enough?

Maybe with enough in one spot, the metal would weaken, just like their armor, just like the glass. It was a good enough bet to make, all things considered. 

Thompson grunts and fumbles when their vehicle hits a particularly hard bump, crying out in pain when he slaps his rifle against his injured shoulder. For a moment, Natasha hears him struggle before pulling himself back up and readjusting his position. 

“I’m good.” He mutters to the medic. 

“Once they move to get out of your sight, don’t chase them. You’ll just be wasting bullets.” Natasha tells him just before she manages to split the helmet of a sniper that crumbles to the ground, clutching their bleeding face.

They’re quickly pulled to the side, out of Natasha’s sight, but they’ll probably live. Natasha huffs in disappointment, but that’s still one sniper taken care of. She flinches to the side when a sniper from the other airship retaliates and ducks down while someone, either Edgar or Yadav, returns fire. 

“I want our anti-air missiles back on those ships!” Captain Briash snarls out an order. 

“Yes, Ma’am!” Her team replies. 

The order came a moment too late, Natasha thinks as an angry red glow sparks from one of the airship’s guns. Only a split second to react, Natasha fires at the left gun, she see’s it flinch slightly off course just as two blasts of whatever-the-hell they managed to cook up fire, and she feels their vehicle jerk to the right, but…

“Brace-“ Someone screams, she’s not sure who, but it doesn’t matter. 

One of the blasts hits just to the right of their vehicle, bursting like a bubble that nearly swallows the vehicle whole and it feels like a damn wave of heat scorching her flesh, penetrating her armor as though it was nothing but a sheer veil. The vehicle is lifted off the ground, thrown to the side by the sheer force of the blast that tears the ground that was beneath them open. Being in such an unsecured position in the vehicle let’s Natasha be forcefully evicted during the first roll of the vehicle, and then her head smashes against something hard and then there’s nothing.

She swears she hears Captain Briash screaming to return fire, hears her own Captain snap to stay on course, hears her team demanding responses, but all that is quickly taken away by a hand on her shoulder. 

“Hey,” David smiles at her with half of a mouth, there’s warmth in an eye that’s hanging out of its socket. 

A gasp wrenches itself from Natasha’s throat as her body gives a horrid lurch that brings nothing but pain and agony. Her skin feels like its on fire and she’s certain that her foot is broken, if not mangled beyond repair. It feels like there’s something digging into her stomach. Her eyes snap open when the earth beneath her rumbles and a ‘boom’ sounds off in the distance. Too close for comfort, her head snaps in the direction and she’s rewarded with a flash of pain that leaves her panting. But she sees one of the airships crashed into the ground and smoking, bodies scrambling out of its belly. 

The sound of metal scrapping and bending draws her attention away from it, then she hears one of the doors being kicked off the vehicle stopped partly on its side and laying on a large, flat rock. The medic pops their head out, teeth clenched and face covered in blood. 

“You!” They spit once their eyes meet Natasha, “Are you alive?!” They demand. 

“Yeah,” Natasha croaks out and then struggles to raise herself.

Looking down, nothing is popping out of her stomach like she expected, but that probably meant something worse. She feels a distinct cold and wet feeling that reminds her of blood trapped under armor. 

A quick glance around as she hears the medic wrestle something out of the vehicle shows a few spots where that red blast hit the ground, where pieces of their vehicle flew off. And her rifle, broken beyond repair, far away from her and closer to the vehicle. 

No enemies nearby, strange. Natasha grunts, taking as deep a breath as she can as she pulls herself onto her good foot. She doesn’t look at her right foot, it hurts too much and she’ll just get sick looking at it. It takes more effort on her part to simply turn towards the medic and their crashed vehicle than she likes, but she preservers through the pain. 

A body is thrown out of the vehicle with a loud grunt. Even with the moon freely lighting the night, it’s too difficult to make out who it is. 

“David?” Natasha mumbles, “Thompson?!” She calls louder as she hobbles as quickly as she can. 

As she gets closer she sees that it’s the driver, not Thompson, but that doesn’t ease her worries. And then she hears screaming and puts more weight on her bad foot even though it makes her stumble. 

“Thompson?!” Natasha demands as she reaches the vehicle.

“He’s alive!” The medic answers her, “Help me with him!” The medic appears at the door nearly ripped off its hinges with Thompson draped over their shoulder.

His head is down, obscuring his expression from her, but his arm is completely mangled, uniform torn to shreds, armor bent and broken. Something crushed it. Natasha grits her teeth, nostrils flaring at the sight. She readily lifts her arms, wincing when just raising them hurts. The medic is careful in passing Thompson down into Natasha’s arms, gently turning his body as they lift his legs over the seat. Natasha bears as much of his weight as she can stand, crumbling as slowly to the ground as she can manage and crying with the pain of it all. 

The medic is disappears back into the vehicle for only a moment, tossing out a few weapons that are in good enough condition before jumping out themselves with their med-kit. Natasha wheezes through clenched teeth, maneuvering Thompson so that less of his weight in on her and reaches for a pistol, holstering it where hers disappeared from. She looks him over and sees that his leg is bent at an odd angle and his uniform is torn around his waist, armor bent into a wound and skin hidden by a thick layer of blood. 

“Talk to me, Thompson!” Natasha pats his back and speaks into his ear, hoping he suffered no auditory damage. 

“Hurts.” He whimpers, “It hurts…” And then he’s silent, but his body is trembling and Natasha desperately hopes that it’s from the cold desert climate. 

“Lay him on his back,” The medic tosses her some torn cloth, “Lay that under his head.” 

Natasha takes a deep breath and follows the medic’s orders, keeping an eye out for the enemy. 

“ _Come in, Car Three! Anyone from Car Three!_ ” Captain Orswell barks over the comm line, filling Natasha with relief.

They weren’t going to be forgotten. 

“Cadet Blakhart reporting, Sir!” Natasha answers, “Cadet Thompson is injured badly, we’re providing medical attention now!” 

“Agent Ricard is gone.” The medic chokes into the comm line, their shoulders shake for a moment before they still and focus on stabilizing Thompson. 

Natasha hears Captain Orswell curse colorfully, but Captain Briash answers, “ _We’ll collect you when we can._ ” There’s the sound of explosions and Natasha can feel the rumble underneath her. “ _Damnit, hit that ship!!!_ ”

And then the comm line goes silent, but Natasha knows they’re alright. Probably. A few more explosions rumble the earth. Maybe not. But that doesn’t matter right now, there’s nothing that can be done. Natasha focuses on their surroundings, she wasn’t out for long, and they put a good distance between themselves and the first airship that crashed… Natasha looks back, eyes scanning for movement. 

There’s nothing. Not even predators wandering about, looking for their midnight meal. She doesn’t blame them, what with all the ruckus going on. Her eyes wander back to Thompson, who’s lying still, his chest barely moving as the medic removes pieces of his armor and uniform to inspect his more grievous wounds. 

She looks away because there’s nothing she can do. She’s not a medic, never trained for it. Hell, she only knows the basics about horse care, let alone a damn human! A snarl twists her face and she finds that it stings her forehead. She taps at the area with care, pulling her hand away to see a blood and dirt stained glove. 

Well… At least the dirt is keeping the blood from getting in her eyes. A little more careful inspection tells her that its clumped on her brow. Natasha will need to clean that up if she wants to avoid an infection. She sighs and returns her eyes to the desert around them, seeing an airship just as its hit with a missile and spins uncontrollably to the ground. The subsequent explosion that shakes the earth even from so far away is quite a sight to see, and she’s glad that no one would walk away from that… so long as their armor doesn’t hold… Which it might. Natasha frowns, looking at the edges of a raging fire that consumes the airship, doesn’t look like anything is crawling out of it. For now.

“ _That’s it, that’s the last of them!_ ” Someone claims over the comm line. Natasha can’t see the caravan, can’t tell which vehicles survived the onslaught.

“ _Enemies incoming!_ ” Another shouts and Natasha’s blood runs cold. 

Her eyes dart around, but again the desert is still empty. And then her eyes land on the medic and Thompson. She can’t just leave them here, but now her blood is pumping, demanding her to take action. Her rifle still lays broken a little ways away, unable to be of any use. Just as she feels like her skin is crawling, the medic stands and turns to her.

“Okay, he’s stable for now.” They both look at the burning airship, “We can’t move him, and we can’t leave him here without protection.” 

“No. So we just wait here and hope our teams make it?” Natasha’s stomach twists with anxiety. 

The medic gives a wistful sigh as they squint into the distance, “How’s your rifle?” 

“Broken.” 

“We might have something.” The medic goes back to the broken vehicle and climbs inside. 

Natasha stares for a moment while they rummage around before returning her attention back to the desert. There’re still no signs of anything, but she can hear a distant firefight that keeps her nerves on edge. A quick glance at Thompson tells her that he’s breathing, which is the best that she can hope for. He doesn’t look good, but she doesn’t think about that. He’s stable, he’ll make it. 

The medic returns shortly, expression sour and filled with frustration. They roughly toss a pair of high-powered binoculars at Natasha and she quickly snatches a hand out to catch them, turning them on immediately to get a better look at the airship wreckage. She sees the scene as if she’s standing right next to it, without the heat of the flames to bother her. She sees bodies lying under and on top of pieces of the airship that broke off with the crash and explosion. None of them are moving as the fire licks at their armor, blackening the metal, but not outright consuming it. 

They’ll likely die from the high temperatures if they aren’t already, skin blistering underneath their suits, cooking in their own protection. It’s a slower death than if their armor wasn’t fire retardant. She counts the bodies that she sees, snarling when she counts five less than what she’d counted on the other airships. Would they have differing numbers? That doesn’t make sense, what would be the purpose of that? No, either they were obscured from her sight, or they escaped. 

Natasha looks around the wreckage and then passed it when she sees nothing of interest. Ah, there. Two bodies, moving steadily towards the fire-fight, one leaning on the other, but both of them have impressive looking weapons. Their armor, however, has seen better days. Dented and broken in places, Natasha frowns, places that should make it harder to move. The larger one, letting the smaller one lean on him, seems unperturbed by his armor. There’s even a chunk of his helmet missing, revealing a bloodied scalp, and if Natasha looks hard enough, she swears she sees bits of his skull exposed.

Her heart drops, “We can’t let them get to our team.” 

The medic is quick to grab the binoculars and Natasha points them in the right direction. They curse loudly.

“The only other rifles we had are busted. We’ve got a bazooka. Ever used one?” The medic only has a scant bit of hope in their voice and it draws Natasha’s attention from the brute. 

They look terrified. Natasha can’t blame them, and wonders if she looks just as afraid. 

“Brief training.” She says and the medic nods.

“Good enough.” 

Moments later, crouched down to keep the long weapon steady between her thighs, teeth clenched as she pushes the pain from her right foot out of her head. Natasha has the brute and his companion just barely in her sights. One undulating dot on the horizon because the monitor was cracked during the crash. It’s good enough for her, she takes a deep breath in, leaning forward a little and bracing herself for what would probably be the worst recoil of her life. 

It is.

Her finger pulls the trigger and the shot fires, there’s a shock of pain from her foot that sends her stumbling onto her ass with the bazooka falling onto her. It’s not too heavy, but she’s still quick to push it off to the side. And then her thighs ache, but she pushes that back, too. 

More importantly, the earth rumbles again as her shot hits something, the resulting explosion much more… violent than either was expecting. The medic is beside her, peering through the binoculars, waiting with baited breath for anything to reveal itself from the cloud of dirt and smoke. Natasha is quick to ready another missile, already lifting the launcher back up and aiming at the dust cloud as it settles.

The medic whistles before she can see anything, “That damn brute is crawling still… Wait, no he stopped. Oh, just half of him was crawling.” 

There’s a moment of abstract horror that passes between them. What the fuck was Talon doing to its soldiers? 

“ _Report! What the hell was that?!_ ” Captain Orswell snarls over the comm line that explodes into their ears. 

They can hear the gunshots clearer, someone is screaming orders, others are responding, some are screaming in pain… 

“Bazooka, sir! A…” Natasha pauses briefly, “A brute was headed your way, carrying another, probably had a bomb on them.”

“ _A what?!_ ” Captain Orswell snarls. 

“A genetically enhanced soldier, by the looks of it,” The medic answers before Natasha can, “He survived the crash, definitely shouldn’t have been moving let alone walking and dragging another guy with him.” 

“ _Let’s hope that was the best they sent. It bodes well for our comrades!_ ” Captain Briash yells into the comm before barking out another order.

Natasha’s brow furrows at that, wondering if she meant their current fight or… if she meant someone else. She looks to the medic to see if they might know, but the medic shrugs, just as confused as Natasha. 

“ _Good job, Cadet, Agent. This fight is almost over, unless you see anyone else dragging more corpses to us?_ ” Captain Orswell asks. 

The medic makes another scan of the desert with the binoculars, passing them to Natasha when they can’t see anything. Natasha looks as well, even twisting behind them, but she sees nothing. Not even the survivors of the first airship. 

“All clear, Captain.” They report. 

“ _Good. We have wounded as well. I’ve called a bird to rendezvous with us. It looks like they are not receiving back up or it would have arrived by now. I believe that this was a success!_ ” Captain Brash exclaims over the comms. 

“ _But… but Captain… The cargo…?_ ” Someone speaks up. 

“ _Yes, we will discuss that once we are safe. Please keep up the defense formation until out pick-up arrive._ ” Captain Briash responds. 

The medic and Natasha exchange another round of confused expressions before it hits Natasha. 

“We’re the red herring.” She huffs and looks back at Thompson. 

What the hell was Overwatch moving that Talon wanted so badly?

 

 

 

Their transportation arrives an hour later. Agent Ricard’s body is laid carefully beside another. Thompson is settled onto a bed and strapped down with several others, including Natasha when the team of medics sent to along to retrieve them spies her favoring her ankle, and the red stain blossoming from her abdomen. 

Yadav, Era, and Vern are strapped down to beds as well. Era is unconscious and Yadav looks like she’s about to pass out as well. Natasha struggles to stay awake, keeping her focus on a medic that’s talking to her in a tone that captures her attention. 

“You need to stay awake. You have a concussion.” They told her. 

Edgar is staring at her, eyes wide and wet. His arm has been placed in a brace and held against his stomach. She stares back as the medic works to patch up her stomach. Something cut it in the crash, not wide enough to let anything spill out, but deep enough to do some worrying damage. 

“You’re stable as we can get you. Stay awake.” The medic tells her and then Edgar is quick to leap up to speak with her, but Captain Orswell beats him.

He marches over and Natasha can tell that he’s scowling, can feel it burning her flesh like flames, but her vision wavers. She can’t seem to get him in focus.

“What the hell were you thinking using a damn bazooka like that?! Of all the most bloody reckless things you’ve done this really takes the cake, Cadet! You aren’t qualified to use that kind of weaponry! What if you hit us? What if you hit your damn self and blew up Thompson!” He jerks his head towards Thompson. His words echo in her ears and she struggles to understand them.

Captain Orswell continues before she can catch up, “What if the damn thing exploded on you?! How did you even know that a bazooka would work against a brute?! All you would have done was draw attention to you and your team and you would have been killed! And for what?! And if that thing came after us, we’d be dead too! Is that what you want?!” He screams, “You want to kill your entire team, Cadet?!” 

“No, Sir!” Natasha barks out after a pause, wincing at the squeeze in her lungs. 

So many aches and pains are making themselves known as the adrenaline of the fight wears off.

“You’re so God damn _lucky_ that you didn’t get us all killed with that kind of behavior! Do you want kicked out of Overwatch, then?! Is that what you want?!” Captain Orswell leans down to scream in her face.

“No, Sir!” Natasha screams back, but it comes out like a cough. 

“I didn’t hear you, Cadet!!! Do you want me to kick your ass so hard out of Overwatch that even your bloody parents wouldn’t take you back?!” 

“No, Sir!” Natasha croaks, his words cutting deep and ringing loudly in her ears. 

“Are you just suicidal!? Is that it?! You want to die so badly that you’d risk our entire operation, your entire team?!” She feels bits of his spit hitting her face, but she doesn’t complain.

“No, Sir!” 

For a moment she just sees his lips moving, but his words are too difficult to pick out of the ones already bouncing in her head. Beside him she sees David. He’s frowning at her. 

“You know what he’s going to do to you right?” He leans in closer than Captain Orswell to whisper in her ear, “He’ll run you into the ground. It’s what you deserve, until you’re nothing but pulp.” 

“You’re gonna run me into the ground, Sir!” Natasha cries, “Run me into the ground until I’m pulp!” 

“That’s right, Cadet, but that’s not just it! I’m gonna take that pulp and build you back up into something _respectable!!_ ” His words are a slap to the face. 

Natasha would prefer being crushed under the vehicle to this. Maybe she was and this is just purgatory? Is she suffering for failing time and time again? She deserves it. It’s fine. 

“I wonder if he’s just going to keep turning you into pulp until there’s nothing left of you.” David whispers, “Until you’re nothing, until you’re less than nothing. You’ll finally be a true reflection of what you really are.” He speaks over Captain Orswell and Natasha winces as she struggles to understand and respond.

But David keeps stealing her words, “Yes, Sir. Please kill me, Sir.” He says for her as she mouths the words, “Or maybe he’ll just keep you on his team as you are and let you kill the rest of them. Like you did Thompson.”

Her eyes follow David to where he stands over Thompson, “He’s dead. Like me.” 

“No…” Natasha groans, snarling at the effort it takes. 

“You killed him and you’ll kill the rest of your team.

“David, stop…” 

“You’ll kill everyone.” David hisses as she turns her head to focus on Captain Orswell. 

But David is there in her face, his bleeding and falling apart in chunks before her. 

“You’ll kill Edgar, last. Won’t you?” David hisses louder. 

“No…”

“Won’t you?!” David shouts

“Answer me, Cadet!” Captain Orswell orders with a vicious growl.

“Shut up, David!” 

There’s a sudden stillness in the plane. But it all blurs into darkness for Natasha.

Her body is left wheezing and panting as it's worked up into a frenzy. The medic returns to her side and Captain Orswell moves back, disappointment written plain as day on his face. The medic pulls a scanner and runs it over her forehead, frowning at the results before showing Captain Orswell.

Captain Orswell sneers at it, and for a moment, his expression softens, hidden from the rest of his team, before it hardens again.

“This conversation isn’t over, Cadet!” He snarls at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!!!! Wooooooo~~~~~ And it only took me eighty years to finish this chapter! Also Tracer, yay!!!!!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Congratulations! You made it to the end! Oh my god, did you enjoy it? Please let me know! This will be updated at least once a week. I'm a slow writer, but I do have a several chapters written out as well as an outline settled so I know where I'm going and how I'm gonna get there. It's just the smaller details that I've gotta work through.
> 
> Plus all those terribly written sex scenes ;) 
> 
> Buckle up, fellas it's gonna be a long ride.


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